Kiss of the Traitor
by Padfoot Lives
Summary: “Hello, Hermione,” he said from the shadows. She froze. He watched the colour drain from her face. “No…” she whispered. He was a living nightmare… And that broke his heart.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize, unless it's an original from one of my other stories, does not belong to me.

**Author's Note**: It's been ages since I've written any fanfic at all! I hope I still have my fans... but if I don't, I don't blame you, because I owe everyone an apology for starting and not finishing "Dusk to Dawn". I can't promise anything, because I'm really busy with college applications and stuff, but I'll try to finish it sometime, and to finish this one – although I have no idea where it's going right now.

**Summary**:"Hello, Hermione," he said from the shadows. He watched the colour drain from her face. "No…" she whispered. He was a living nightmare… And that broke his heart.

* * *

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter One: The Token**

It was his twenty-first birthday, and it had been nearly four years since he had looked at the face of the person who had broken his heart. He had absolutely no desire to celebrate… that desire had not increased over the past three birthdays, and it certainly wasn't about to spark to life now. He stood in his bedroom, in a house he had inherited and transformed so that it was barely recognizable as what it had once been, and he heard the sounds of people moving around downstairs.

They often didn't come over to stay. He didn't live alone, but the house wasn't normally this full. They were all here for his birthday, waiting to greet him with their grins and laughter and presents as soon as he set foot from his room.

He had never wanted so badly to lock himself in forever.

It was unfair, he supposed, not to be grateful for them. Because he really was, somewhere in the corner of the bleak wasteland that had become his heart. They tried… they spent every day, every moment they spent with him, trying to bring him back, to watch him laugh and to know that he mean it, to see his once-brilliant eyes sparkle once more. Ron lived with him, in a bedroom along the corridor, and they were, in some ways, a regular pair of roommates, best friends… only, unlike normal best friends (the kind they once had been), one terrible heartbreaking subject lay between them, tacitly avoided at all costs. Ron hurt too, he knew he did. So did Hagrid, who often visited. Ginny, who was married now. Neville, who had remained firm friends with them and had gained their respect after his courage during that battle. Luna… Mrs. Weasley… Parvati… Fred and George, even if they tried to hide it. He supposed they understood, because they had been irreparably hurt and damaged by the same thing… only it had been worse for him, and they knew it. For him, it had been… it still was… unbearable.

What they didn't understand was that he couldn't go back. He couldn't become who he once had been, his green eyes would not sparkle again. He had done the unthinkable. He had done the unforgivable. And he had faced the most painful betrayal imaginable, and fallen prey to its pain. They had to understand he couldn't come back.

He stood in front of the mirror, dressed in jeans and a frayed checked shirt, his black hair tousled from sleep and faint shadows marking the patches beneath his eyes. His wand stuck out of one of the front pockets of his jeans. The last living Death Eaters still hung around, dangerous and hungering for revenge. Besides, having his wand with him at all times was simply habit too. And he was pale, paler than usual, the kind that came from illness and not lack of exposure to the sun. He wasn't ill. It was simply what was inside, the wasting away of everything inside him… the wasting away of his heart.

He had thought the haunting memories of the war, of Dumbledore's death, of Sirius, of Voldemort's eyes and the excruciating pain of killing another – he'd believed that would be the worst of it. But even those memories were bearable. It was the memories of his life before, of his happier times and of that horrible night, that lingered over him like a haunting shadow.

But whatever else he might be, and might have been, he was and never had been a coward. He had to go outside and face the birthday he wished had never come, face the faces that were there and those that were not there, and give due appreciation to all the people who still stuck by him even after everything.

Smiling slightly, because four years had made him an excellent actor, he turned around and walked to the door of his room. He unlocked it, and stepped out into the hallway.

Strangely enough, it was deserted, and as he made his way along it towards the stairs, nobody jumped out at him or showed him their beaming face or played a playful joke on him. He was surprised, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a twinge of curiosity and amusement. They were playing with him and his expectations, keeping him on his toes as they used to do, to gauge his reaction and laugh themselves silly at the mental image of him lurking in the hallway of his own house, expecting a loud yell from any direction.

_Honestly_, he thought, _I've become almost as bad as Moody_.

He made his way down the stairs, and thought he heard a muffled giggle from somewhere nearby. He straightened, pretending to be completely casual, as if this was just another ordinary bloody day, and he strolled towards the kitchen as if intending to have a mug of coffee before studying any new reports Professor McGonagall might have sent him (he was what Ron liked to call a 'freelance Auror').

"SURPRISE!"

He couldn't quite help grinning slightly at the eager faces that burst out at him when he entered the kitchen. There was a large, lavishly and quite repulsively decorated cake on the table (he suspected the twins might have had something to do with the mouldy-looking icing), firecrackers went off, and ricocheting off the ceiling and walls, and a horde of people were grinning at him. There was the entire Weasley family, the twins beaming brightly at him, Ron nearest to the door, and Ginny nearby with her arm linked through Terry Boot's; there was Lupin, looking unusually happy, with Tonks beside him, her hair a vivid pink in honour of Harry's birthday; Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor Flitwick were grinning at him from around a cauldron of what looked like bubbling seaweed; Professor McGonagall was there, trying to look disapproving and failing miserably; Parvati and Neville appeared to have been in the middle of an Exploding Snap game when Harry's entrance had hushed everyone briefly; Luna was sitting dreamily inside the sink and smiling vaguely at him, although Ron kept shooting her concerned and tender looks; there was Slughorn, Hagrid, Fleur and her sister Gabrielle, Bill and Fleur's tiny daughter Aurelia… and Snape.

A part of him was pleased to see them, and immensely grateful for the effort they put into all of this. But another part of them just felt tired and bleak, wishing that they would understand and just leave him alone. They had to comprehend this. They had to understand that the Harry Potter they had once known was dead.

As everyone rushed to hug and clap him on the back, grinning and gesturing at the pile of presents on the table (half of which had been charred by some antics of the twins, undoubtedly), he managed to manoeuvre his way through everybody and finally found himself in possession of a bottle of Butterbeer while everyone settled down to enjoy the morning party; and he also found himself facing Ron as well as Snape.

"Twenty-one, is it, Potter?" Snape asked in a cool voice, looking him up and down as if expecting him to come down with the chicken pox or something.

He nodded slightly. "I didn't expect to see you here." He noticed Ron shooting Snape mildly hostile looks from beside him; Ron had never gotten over his dislike of Snape, and like him, could not quite forgive Snape for the things he had done.

Snape smiled his cool smile that looked faintly like a sneer. "Horace and Minerva persuaded me. It seemed they felt that collective unity was important today."

"Well, thanks for coming," he replied, in a slightly flat tone. He appreciated Snape's presence, but could not claim to care very much either way whether the man was here or not. His attention was at that moment distracted, and his mood dampened, by the sight of a bushy-tailed ginger cat springing onto the table and fixing him with a mildly affectionate and mildly haughty look. Crookshanks lived at the house, but was always off hunting and he never got used to bumping into the cat.

Ron's expression, too, flickered at the sight of Crookshanks. "Hello, you lousy mangy creature," he said in a slightly overly hearty voice. "Came for the cake, did you?"

Crookshanks gave him a disdainful look so reminiscent of someone they had once known that they both stiffened. Snape glanced between them and the cat, and his expression was impassive as stone as Crookshanks leapt off the table and disappeared amidst the throng of people. Ron looked at Snape, and then at him, and said: "Look, mate, don't let the cat get to you today."

"I think Potter could use something a little stronger, Weasley," Snape interrupted coolly, "Why don't you bring him a Firewhisky?"

To his astonishment, Ron did not protest, but merely nodded and said, "I'll be right back." He then turned and disappeared to get the drink in question, and for the first time, the young Auror left with Snape began to suspect that there was something out of the ordinary happening amongst all of these people who had come here today. Collective unity, Snape had said. Collective unity for what? He looked at Snape questioningly, expecting an answer.

He got one.

"I did not add my… ah… token to the pile on the table," Snape said coolly, sounding as if the words came with difficulty. He reached into his typical black cloaks, and produced, to the Auror's amazement, a wrapped parcel. "I felt it would be wiser to give this to you in person."

"But…" he stared at the parcel now in his hands, trying to process the knowledge that Snape had just given him a birthday present. It was like Kreacher buying him a new broomstick for Christmas, one of those impossibilities in life. Snape had always loathed him, and that had not changed very much in the time that had passed. Or at least, he had thought it hadn't changed. Why, then, had Snape handed him a gift? He looked up, and asked: "Why?"

"I'll be frank with you, Potter," said the old Potions master of Hogwarts, "I don't like you in general. I probably never will… you partake of far too much of your father's character."

In spite of himself, he actually smiled at that. Snape would always be Snape.

"However, you may call this a… a token of appreciation. I will not forget that you saved my life, and that your… nobility and courage… saved thousands of lives that would undoubtedly have been in peril had the Dark Lord vanquished you. Like many others here, I felt that if there was something we could do in small repayment of the debt we owe you… we would do it."

"What are you talking about – ?"

Snape sighed, looking as disdainful as he had used to during their Potions lessons. "For once in your life, Potter, save your questions until after the fact. Perhaps you might consider opening it?"

After a moment's hesitation, he opened it. For the first time, he became aware that conversation and laughter all around had ceased, and that everyone was watching him and Snape with intent and almost nervous expressions on their faces. With a twinge of foreboding, he pulled apart the wrapping on the parcel and looked down at the simple items below – a piece of parchment, a small box that was sealed, a very old letter… and a photograph.

He felt every muscle in his body freeze, and he couldn't breathe because of the constriction in his chest. Nearly four years since he had looked at the face of the person who had broken his heart.

Finally, he looked up, and his green eyes were blazing. "What is this?" he asked coldly.

Expressions all around registered anxiety and concern, but nobody looked surprised. Ron, looking more nervous than everyone else, was standing quite near him, a bottle of Firewhisky clutched heedlessly in his hand. But Snape looked completely unperturbed.

"This," he said coolly, "Is your one chance at salvation, Potter. I would suggest you take it."

The anger bubbling inside him died. It was the tone of Snape's voice that gave him pause, making him wonder for the first time whether it was possible…

Seeing the change in expression on his face, and the pallor, Snape straightened with a partially satisfied gesture and bowed in acknowledgement to the others in the group. He then turned back to him and said: "My work here is done, then. I suspect it won't be long before we meet again, Potter, but until then, farewell."

"W-won't you stay for some cake?" the words slipped out before he realized it.

Snape actually looked amused. "Thank you, Potter, but no. Appreciative I may be of your deeds and qualities, but that does not mean I will become friendly."

And with a swish of his black cloak, he swept out of the room. Harry watched him go in silence.

…

…

…

There was just one light on inside the house. He could see it flickering against the frosted windows of what was probably the bedroom. It was cold here, and he pulled his Invisibility Cloak tighter around himself. Why on earth would anyone choose such a cold place, he wondered, unless they wanted to punish themselves? The thought, offhand when it had first uttered itself in his head, took root and made him feel even colder. He approached the house, located as one of the few buildings across the desolate moor, and tapped the door with his wand.

It opened slightly. The house appeared to be completely Muggle-ised, with not a trace of magical protection over it. That made him angry. It was the equivalent, to him, of a suicide wish. He slid silently into the house and laid his Cloak down on the nearest furniture shadow. He then made his way up the stairs towards the location of the lit room.

He found himself in the corridor, and at the far end, a door was partly-open, the light spilling faintly out. It was nothing more than a night-lamp that would light the room only dimly. He approached the door and pushed it open slightly.

The figure on the bed sat upright at the creaking sound of the door and blinked into the darkness, trying to make out what was there. She reached towards the drawer of her bedside table; he assumed that was where she must have stashed away her wand. He looked at her, bathed in the soft glow of the lamplight, and he felt as if everything inside him was being torn to shreds all over again. She looked so small and vulnerable and beautiful, covered by the quilts… so familiar… and yet the change in her was shocking.

"Hello, Hermione," he said from the shadows.

She froze, the hand reaching to the drawer stilling in mid-air and falling limply to her side as if she couldn't hold it up any longer. He watched the colour drain from her already pale face. Her brown eyes filled with unspeakable pain.

"No…" she whispered, sounding anguished.

He realized that, to her, he was probably a living nightmare rearing its ugly head to haunt her once again. And knowing that broke his heart.

* * *

A/N: Updates soon! Please review if you want me to continue... I need some encouragement that this is a story worth writing in order to write it! 


	2. The Nightmare Returns

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize, unless it's an original from one of my other stories, does not belong to me.

**A/N:** Tons of thanks to Gillyweedrules (who wanted to be mentioned) for giving me my very first review on this fic! And I'm so grateful to everyone who reviewed... I was stunned; I've never received 24 great reviews (or at all) in just over a day for my very first chapter. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really appreciate feedback, and feel free to criticise constructively too. Oh, and rest assured... all questions will eventually be answered!

**Summary**: "Hello, Hermione," he said from the shadows. He watched the colour drain from her face. "No…" she whispered. He was a living nightmare… And that broke his heart.

* * *

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Two: The Nightmare Returns**

"May I turn on a light?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

Hermione stared at him as if she thought he was mad, or she was; possibly _he_ was, Harry reflected, because it was simply not a normal question to ask someone you haven't seen in four years whether you can turn on a light in there bedroom (after having broken into their house using magic and snuck up on them, to boot!).

Taking her silence for permission granted, he reached for the light switch near the door and turned on the pleasant yellow main light of the room. He blinked, momentarily blinded after having spent so much time in the darkness, and stepped further into the room. He could hardly bear to look at her. He suddenly didn't know what to do, or say. After all, what could he say? Too much had happened; they had both hurt each other irrevocably, and he didn't know if either one of them could take it back. They had been best friends, they had loved each other… and now, suddenly, they were like strangers in a room. And every time he looked at her, he saw the pallor of her face – the fear, the shock, the pain.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," he said lamely, "I just thought you might be asleep and didn't want to wake you by ringing the doorbell or knocking on the door."

For the first time, she seemed to recover herself, and her expression changed. It was as if a mask slid over her features, hiding the fear and the pain and leaving only weariness and a spark of anger. "Oh," she said coldly, not moving from the bed, "So I suppose your alleged gentlemanly motives make it okay for you to break in?"

He felt a moment's strange amusement ease the pain inside him. She sounded almost like the girl he had once known. "I didn't think it would matter," he explained apologetically, "I came here for far more important things than breaking and entering."

The hand that had fallen to her side raised itself and went for the drawer of the beside table. He watched in silence, not reacting but merely keeping his wand in his hand by his side, as she jerked open the drawer and pulled out her own wand. The drawer slid shut with a thud, and she pointed her wand at him with a shaking hand, her eyes full of such a dangerous threat that he took half a step back. He had not forgotten how dangerous Hermione was with a wand. He was just surprised, and a little relieved, that she hadn't gotten out of bed to murder him.

"Get out," she said, her voice quiet but intense. He thought he saw a gleam of tears in her eyes. "Get out of my house and leave me alone."

"Hermione – "

"Don't call me that," she cried, her voice shaking now as much as her hand. "My name is Rianna Wilson. Hermione is _dead_." She looked him straight in the eye. "And so is Harry."

He swallowed, looking at her, and bravely walked a few steps forward, closer to her. The wand trembled even more, but he was heartened by the fact that no curse came his way. Instead, she merely lowered the wand, resting it and her hand on her quilt-covered lap and turned her head against the pillows, away from him.

"Please leave, Harry," she said in that voice of icy dignity she had always used when she wanted to hide what she was really feeling. "I don't want to curse you. But I want to see you even less, so please just leave me alone."

"I can't do that," he said slowly, trying to keep his voice steady. He cleared his throat slightly to keep the croakiness from creeping through.

Her chest heaved slightly as if she was choking back a sob, and, still without looking at him, she said: "Then kill me and be done with it. I assume that's why you came… to finish what you nearly did four years ago. Traitors are dangerous and shouldn't be allowed to live. I'm the equivalent of a Death Eater, aren't I, only worse to you? Wasn't that what you said long ago? So kill me now, Harry, and end it… I'm tired of everything anyway."

He didn't know what it was in her voice that frightened and hurt him so much. It might have been her words, for they were horrible, anguishing words that he knew he deserved. It might have been the quiet, intense pain in her voice. It might have been the dull exhaustion, that was almost as awful to hear as the pain. It might have been the sight of the small hand clenching and unclenching painfully over the wand on her lap. It might have been a combination of them all. He didn't know, and he didn't care. All he knew was that he had never felt so awful in his life, that he had never known such anguish. He felt like a young boy again, helpless and futile in the face of something far beyond him.

Harry didn't realise it, but his legs wouldn't hold him any longer. He slowly sank to his knees on the floor, and let his wand slide from his fingers. Its clattering sound as it rolled on the floor drew her attention, and Hermione slowly turned her head back towards him. He stared at her, fighting back his own tears, tears that burned in his eyes.

"I would die before I killed you," he said brokenly.

She looked at him from the bed, her eyes filled with tears, a single one trickling down her cheek. "Oh, Harry," she said bleakly, and her voice was almost kind, "You already did."

He swallowed the terrible lump in his throat, trying to ignore the constricting pain in his chest, and he shook his head, trying to find the words with which he could tell her how wrong he had been. "I'm so sorry," he finally croaked. "I never meant to – I never wanted to. I needed to hurt you… like I had been hurt. I needed you to hurt like I did. But not like this, I never wanted this. I made a mistake – the worst mistake possible – "

"And mistake that saved your life, and saved the magical and Muggle worlds," she said softly, her eyes watching him as if through a veil of tears. She didn't sob; she just stared at him, with the tears sliding silently down her face. "It was a mistake made for the best."

"I couldn't bear losing you… I won't do it again."

She was silent for some time, and finally said in a tired, dead voice: "My family, my friends, everything I held dear… everything that meant anything to me… rejected me and cast me out. You cast me out, Harry, and I loved you, oh, how I loved you. I followed you to help destroy those Horcruxes, I held you when you wept after fighting the Inferi of your parents' bodies… and yet, even after all that, you didn't love me enough, you didn't trust me enough to believe the best of me instead of the worst. And now you're here, because guilt won't let you live your life until you try to find some closure to this mess…"

"Guilt?" he nearly shouted, stumbling to his feet. "Do you think this is guilt? You think _guilt_ brought me here tonight?"

He tried not to think about the truth of her words, about the pain. Hermione shook her head as if she didn't want explanations. She simply rearranged the quilts around her, smoothing them down almost absently. He realized how cold she probably was. In the long silence that followed, he wanted nothing more than to put his arms around her and hold her like she had held him so many times, and take the cold and the pain away.

-FLASHBACK-

"_Tell me why," he nearly screamed, glad for the rain, because it hid the tears streaming down his face – probably hid hers, too, if she had it in her to cry. "Tell me why you did this to me! Was everything you ever said a lie? Do you even care that you've destroyed me?"_

_She looked at him, only at him and not the other horrified, accusing faces around, and said softly: "Please understand, Harry…"_

"_Understand? I'll never understand! You, with your brilliant mind and your newly fledged body, found a far better master to command them, a far better choice to do you justice – that's what I understand! You betrayed me, Hermione, and you know it. You sold me to Voldemort – worse, you sold yourself to Voldemort, knowing it would destroy me." He felt sick, he felt like he was going to throw up… it hurt too much. "And you kissed me and promised me you would die before you let me fall. What was that kiss for? Pity?"_

"_Harry, please – "_

"_Nothing but a traitor's kiss. The worst betrayal imaginable. Get away from me, Hermione."_

"_No, Harry, please, just listen – " She was on her knees in the mud, the dirt and the rain splashing against her. She looked like she was dying, like a desperate woman searching for water, and he wouldn't give it to her. It was just another act._

_Neville stepped in; neither Ginny nor Ron nor the others seemed able to speak. Neville, his voice shaking, said: "Go, Hermione. None of us want to hurt you, but we'll have to."_

"_Neville, don't – Hagrid, please – Ginny – oh, Ron, Ron, don't do this – "_

"_You're the enemy now, Hermione," Ron choked, sounding like his world had just ended, "You'd better go quickly."_

_Lightning flashed across the sky. The Death Eaters were fighting members of the Order of the Phoenix nearby. Where was Voldemort? They didn't know, but it wouldn't be long before he turned up, now that Hermione was here as well…_

_Screams filled the air. People were fighting brutally. People were fighting for this war. Harry owed to them to fight his part._

_She looked at him again, her pleading, desperate gaze fixing on Harry once more. He hated that she was begging. Her act must really be desperate if she was going to such lengths to get them to believe her or listen to her. The hand holding his wand shook as he pointed it at her, a warning of what he would have to do if she didn't leave. "Harry," she begged, "Harry, I'm so cold, I'm so frightened… help me, please…"_

_His wand wavered; he nearly broke down at the plea in her voice. She sobbed. "Hold me, Harry, please. Hold me and take the cold and the pain away."_

"_Don't push me, Hermione," he said, raising the wand once more, "I'll kill you, I swear I will. Traitors are dangerous to us, to every one of us. Say another word and I swear I'll say the fatal ones. I swear to you, I'm beyond nothing now. You've taken everything from me. You've stripped my heart and my faith away, and killing will be nothing to me now."_

_Her eyes were fixed on him. For a brief instant, he thought he saw a hint of triumph in her eyes at his words, but it was gone almost instantly, replaced with an abject despair and a sudden sense that she had lost, that everything she had ever known was gone because she had betrayed it all. He saw the realization sink into her, saw the ensuing pain, and wished she could feel it forever because he knew he would feel his forever. He almost wanted to die. Almost. First he wanted to kill Voldemort. Kill her._

"_What are you going to do, Harry?" she asked._

_He wanted to say the words. He wanted to kill her, to destroy the very thing that had destroyed him. But he couldn't He knew he would never have been able to._

_He lowered his wand. "Go," he said, and his voice sounded dead. _

"_Someday, Harry, I hope you'll understand," she whispered into the rain._

"_Go, and never come back."_

-END FLASHBACK-

His mind was spinning. He had once dreamed of amnesia, because he wanted to forget that night and never have to think about it again. He felt that sickness once more, that feeling that he would surely throw up. Only this time, it was for different reasons. And now, he wanted to remember every little detail, because it was his own personal form of self-Cruciatus.

"How did you find me?" she finally asked, breaking the hollow, bleak silence, sounding only faintly curious about it.

He reached into the pocket of the long black overcoat he had chosen to wear so that he could blend into the darkness when he wasn't wearing his cloak. He pulled out the parcel Snape had given him, only the wrapping holding it together was already torn as he approached her and laid it down on her lap.

She looked at each of the items in silence. The piece of parchment had writing on it, Snape's neat handwriting, with the address and precise location of her house out on the moors. The photograph was of her – Harry could see that it startled her, because it was one of her from about a year and a half ago, a photograph taken by a journalist taking random pictures at the grocery store not far from the house, and Hermione had accidentally been captured in it. The old letter had been found among Hermione's things when Mr. and Mrs. Granger had left all her things behind when they had moved to America. It was from Dumbledore to Hermione, explaining to her that in the event of an emergency, if she ever needed to find a place of safety for Harry, to go to a Muggle house he had protected on the Scottish moors. The protection from the house had died when Dumbledore had died, but when the letter had been found, it didn't take much to guess that Hermione would choose that desolate spot anyway.

Finally, she looked at the box. He could tell from the way her hands trembled slightly that she knew exactly what would happen when you cast the special charm to open it. His birthday had been three days ago, and he had spent the two days after opening the box locked in his room, opening it over and over and sometimes crying as if his heart would break. It had been the final tool that had pushed him, at last, to coming here. Even the desperate urgings of the others had not been enough.

"They've been searching for you for the past three and a half years," Harry said softly. "I tried for the first few months after we found out, but I stopped because I told myself if you wanted to be found, we would find you… and that we didn't deserve to know you after what happened. It was Snape, oddly enough, who searched the Muggle newspapers every day. Eventually, he found the photograph and enlarged it to determine for sure that it was you. He and McGonagall put the picture and the letter from Dumbledore together to figure out your exact location, and then Snape came out here to find the right house. He did."

"Why would he do that?" Hermione asked in a mainly flat voice, without looking at him. "He's never cared much for me."

"I saved his life. He said he appreciates all that I did. Not to mention the fact that maybe he felt he owed to Dumbledore to try and find you. But I think, most of all, he knew more than any of the others did how you felt. He did almost exactly the same thing, remember? You, Sirius, Snape… believed by your friends and family that you had betrayed those who trusted you most."

Hermione put the parcel down on the bed beside her, and shook her head. "That was a long time ago. What's done is done," she said dully. "You've found me, you've seen me. I'm alive, thank you very much. You can go back to London and the others now and tell them that neither they nor you need feel any guilt anymore, because I've gone past the point where I care anymore. If it's my forgiveness you want, if that'll help all of you live your lives better, then you have it. I don't have the time or will anymore to hate any of you. I never could _hate_ any of you, really."

"I didn't come here to assuage my guilt," Harry said quietly, standing over her and trying to fight the urge to wrap his arms around her. "I came here because we want you back. I want to take you back home, to London. You can stay with me."

"Go back?" Hermione uttered a short, bitter laugh. "Go back to the place, to the people that rejected me? You must be mad!"

Harry swallowed. "Hermione, please… you have to understand… every one of us wants you back. They need you. I need you."

She said nothing, only threw off the quilts and slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed, as if using a great of effort to get up and out of bed. Harry took a step back in horror. For the first time, in the bright light, he was really looking at her. She had lost so much weight she was nearly unrecognizable. Her face was slightly sunken, her eyes marked by dark shadows, and her hair limper than he had ever seen it. The pyjamas she was wearing practically swam around her. She looked, he realized in horror, like he felt inside: wasted away.

"Hermione!" he couldn't stifle the exclamation. "You look –oh, my– when was the last time you ate?"

Suddenly aware of how she must look to his eyes, the fight went out of her and she sank back down on her bed and looked down at the small hands, knotted together on her lap. "The grocery store owner has become friendly with me," she said quietly. "He brings me food occasionally, because I can't go out into the cold regularly. Special parcels for dear Rianna. I go downstairs and eat when I get hungry enough."

Harry began to feel that something was seriously wrong. He looked down at her, and sat down on the bed beside her. He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She didn't protest, but he saw her eyes fill with tears at the tender touch.

"What's happened to you?" he asked softly, unable to stand seeing her like this.

She continued knotting and studying her hands. "Why do you care?"

"I care," he answered simply, "That's all that matters."

"No," her voice choked on a sob. "Don't. Please don't. You _can't_ care about what happens to me."

He was startled. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, Harry," she said quietly, finally looking up at him, and her face and eyes were completely dry. "Don't you understand? I'm dying."

…


	3. Not Negotiable

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize, unless it's an original from one of my other stories, does not belong to me.

**A/N**: To _Ravenclaw's heir_: I don't know if it's obvious or if you really are Ravenclaw's heir, because your theory was correct! I'm going to keep the details a mystery for now... evil grin. I hope you guys like this chapter, and I'm going to have to make the next few a little longer than the previous ones, so if it takes me more than a couple of days to update, please bear with me!

**Summary**:"Hello, Hermione," he said from the shadows. He watched the colour drain from her face. "No…" she whispered. He was a living nightmare… And that broke his heart.

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Three: Not Negotiable**

The water bubbled in the little kettle on the stove, gently at first, and then fiercer and fiercer as the water grew hotter. Harry sometimes felt that boiling water was like his anger used to be. It had been a long time since he'd felt truly angry, so angry that he wanted to kill someone or something. He was angry now. He wanted to smash his head against a wall, and hear the sickening crunch of his worthless skull bones shattering. He wanted to strangle Hermione for disappearing and not coming to any of them for help. He wanted to kill Voldemort… again… for it was Voldemort who had done all this. He had brought them here, to this point of madness.

Hermione was dying. The words didn't make sense to Harry as he took the kettle off the fire and began to make cocoa. The words rang in his mind, but it refused to sink in. How could Hermione be dying? It wasn't fair… it wasn't happening. It couldn't happen. How many times had he seen her on the brink of death and nearly collapsed himself to see her that way.

Only this time, there was to be no more light-headed relief and joy when he found out that she was all right. She wasn't all right.

She was dying.

"It doesn't make sense," Harry groaned to himself, trying to assimilate it. How could this be? This was Hermione they were talking about – their Hermione, his Hermione. She couldn't die. She was a witch who was supposed to live well over two hundred years like the rest of them. _She wasn't supposed to die._

He replayed their conversation upstairs in her room, when she had said those mind-numbing, horrible words. "No," he'd said flatly, denying it without second thought, "You can't be dying. What are you talking about? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I say," she had said tiredly, bunching the quilts between her hands and hugging them to her as if searching for comfort. "I'm dying, Harry. I'm going to be dead – really dead – soon."

He tried to ignore the 'really dead' part and the way she'd glanced at him when she said it, almost frightened, but it stuck in his head. He couldn't believe this was happening. It was as if the entire conversation had changed from her nightmare… to his. All these years, they had been apart – she had been here, in the cold and the desolate, alone and friendless except for some grocery store owner – and they had never known… she had never tried to contact them or let them find her… and now, when he had, he had been met with this knowledge.

"I don't believe it."

"Suit yourself," she had said slightly bitterly, still not looking at him, "Traitors' words don't smack of truth, do they? Oh, I suppose it doesn't matter. I wasn't really expecting you to be here on my deathbed or anything."

He had stood up, his mind a whirl, and he managed to say: "I'm going to go make some cocoa or something, all right? I'll make you a cup too."

And he'd left the room and come downstairs, trying so hard to wake up from the nightmare.

He didn't.

Harry made two mugs of cocoa and stood inside the cold kitchen with his, drinking it. Its warmth against his hands and tongue – almost too warm – made absolutely no difference to the cold creeping inside him and spreading into every corner. It was like the opposite of drinking Butterbeer, this feeling inside him. Only it was much, much worse than he could have imagined.

"Please," he begged softly, hardly aware that the words were slipping out, "Please don't die. I can't go another four years like these… I can't do this without you. I can't lose you again, knowing that it was my fault you left in the first place. I can't. Please…"

He had never felt so impotent or hopeless in his entire life.

He drained the cup of cocoa, the last residue leaving a strangely appropriate bitter taste in his mouth, and he picked the other mug up. Swallowing and steeling himself, he went back upstairs to Hermione's bedroom. When in pain, he had always tried to understand, he had always asked the questions to which he needed the answers – even if the answers sometimes made it worse. Now, he needed to know.

Hermione was under the quilts again when he returned, covered almost to her neck by the volumes of bedclothes so that she looked almost normal. Only he could see the state of her all too clearly – he saw her eyes, worst of all, the empty pain inside them. He walked towards her and handed her the mug of cocoa. She thanked him in a detached voice, as if he was nothing more Madam Pomfrey giving her some kind of sedative to keep her from getting upset. That hurt, but he knew he deserved it. What neither he nor she deserved was for her to keep suffering the way she obviously was now. He couldn't bear to see her so sick and fragile – not when memories of the vibrant, obnoxiously clever and stubborn teenage girl flashed into his mind. He couldn't bear to see her in pain.

"Tell me what happened," he said in a clear, calm voice. He had to stay calm and controlled, for both their sakes. Only then could he work something out.

Hermione took a long sip of cocoa, and he hoped she felt warmer. She looked at him, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, clearly needing no elaboration as to what he meant about what happened, she spoke: "I'm very ill. It gets worse every day, and going out into the cold or doing anything too strenuous speeds it up. I suppose the closest description I can give it is something like leukaemia for magical folk."

"Did you get it because of the cold here? Not eating enough?" He knew he sounded accusing, but he was angry. He thought her life meant more to her than that! A sinking feeling struck him… if her life meant nothing to her, it was because of what they – what _he_ – had done.

"No," she said coldly, looking away, "Although the weather made it worse. This was… Harry, does it matter?"

"_Yes_."

"This was… induced… by magic."

He stiffened and felt his blood run cold. "What do mean – magic?"

"Look, Harry, do you remember Dolohov? The Death Eater? He was one of the few we – you – never rounded up, caught, or killed. He's still out there, along with a couple of others like Macnair and Alecto. He's the one who – "

"Attacked you in the Department of Mysteries, yeah, I remember him very well," Harry said through gritted teeth.

Hermione glanced at him, and took another slow sip of cocoa. "Well, I'm guessing he always bore a sort of grudge against me for escaping that curse and making him pay later on. Not to mention because it was through some of my… actions… that Voldemort met you in his fatal conflict. He, ironically enough, sees me as a filthy traitor and even filthier Mudblood. He tracked me down."

Harry was silent, waiting. The blood was roaring in his ears.

"He didn't attack me directly – he knew, I suppose, that he was no match for me," Hermione observed dispassionately. "Instead, he snuck into the house when I wasn't around and slipped a magical spell into a loaf of bread. I ate the bread. The spell was a very powerful and dangerous sickness spell. It kills you, through what appears to be natural illness."

It felt like someone had hit Harry with a sledgehammer. His reflexive reaction was fury, but all his anger at her had died… and there was also a wave of horror. Dolohov knew of Hermione's existence because of Harry. He hated Hermione because of what she had done on Harry's behalf. He had been able to attack her, unprotected, and poison her food because she wasn't with the rest of them… because of Harry. This was his fault, and Hermione was paying for it with the price of her life. He couldn't speak. He could see the toll the illness was taking on her. It didn't look like a pleasant way to die. A slow, painful death… it was exactly the kind of thing a twisted Death Eater would think of.

"I'll kill him," he spat.

"How noble of you," Hermione said a little disdainfully, "A little late for chivalry, isn't it, Harry?"

He knew that all too well, and it nearly killed him.

"I'm so sorry," he said in a voice that was so hoarse it was nearly unrecognizable. "This is all my – I never should have let – oh, Hermione – "

"Regret isn't going to bring the dead back to life, Harry," she told him pitilessly.

He looked at her, her pale face as if carved in the stone of icy dignity, her voice and eyes hard and merciless. What had happened to the ready compassion and kind sympathy (overborne only by the stubbornness of her intelligence) that he remembered? _He_ had done this to her. He had made her this person without mercy or pity for him. And he deserved none.

She was right. Regret wasn't going to make much of a difference to anything. But there was something he could do that maybe could make a difference.

"Let me take you to St. Mungo's, Hermione, maybe there's something they can do."

Her expression was half-amused, half-scornful. "Do you think Dolohov would have made it that easy, Harry? When I cast the spell over the bread container to find out what spell he had used on its eaten contents, I found a message he had left for me. No ordinary means – magical or Muggle – can cure this illness. It's degenerative, and will only get worse if any healer tries to do a spell on me."

"But there must be something – there's always a solution!"

"If there is," she said absently, "I don't know it because I have no access to books and things here. If I could get to a good stock of old books, maybe I could find something… but I don't have the will or the energy to go travelling and searching about the place… and I'm not sure I care anymore…"

"Don't say that!" he said fiercely. "Don't you ever tell me you don't care about saving your own life! Because even if you don't, I do, and I'm not about to let you die here!"

She smiled at him a little bitterly. "You were willing to put me to death once."

"You know I would never have done it. I didn't do it."

"You're right – you didn't."

"Glad we've settled that," he said forbiddingly, feeling slightly like he used to when forced into an argument with Hermione. "Now, I suggest you tell me where your clothes are and what things you want me to pack."

"What are you talking about?"

"You didn't think I was going to leave you here, did I? And although I'd brave anything for you, Hermione, I'm afraid I'm not going to let you continue living here in this frozen pit. You're coming with me. I assume you don't have enough strength to Apparate, so I'm going to take you Side-Along back home where you'll have access to the best books in the magical world and a whole host of people to search them with you. I'm going to keep you alive if it's the last thing I do."

He moved towards the cupboard as he spoke. Hermione put her empty mug of cocoa down with a resounding _thunk_ and her eyes flashed furiously at him – one of the few signs of life she had shown since his arrival.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!"

He tried not to flinch, and turned instead to the task to picking out clothes to take with them. "It's not up for negotiation," he said firmly, keeping his voice cool so that she didn't think he was going to be a pushover in this instance. "Do you want to die? Do you think any of us want to die?"

"Leave my underwear alone!" she nearly shrieked, jolting forward as he opened her underwear drawer to take some.

He rolled his eyes, but hurried towards her to ease her back before she killed herself. He bit back a choked cry at the sight of her, searching for breath with the mere exertion of trying to leap off her bed. "Calm down," he said sternly, pushing her back gently and looking down into her eyes. "You need underwear, don't you? Besides, I've already seen your underwear, and _not_ seen it."

She actually blushed.

"Hermione," his voice gentled, "I know how afraid you must be of going back and facing everything and everyone… but you have to understand… every one of us wants you back. You have no idea how sorry we are, how much they want to see you."

She turned her head away, and a tear snaked its way down her cheek. She looked so lost and alone that he had to physically get up and move back to the cupboard to keep from holding her tightly. He knew she would reject his touch if he tried, and he didn't want to hurt her or feel the pain of being rejected. Closing his eyes to blink away his own tears, he took ten more minutes getting her clothes together and a few more things, including her wand, she rather shakily asked for – having tiredly given up the argument in favour of just going somewhere warmer. Slinging the large Muggle's duffel bag over one shoulder, he went back and pulled back her quilts and gently scooped her up into his arms. He had outgrown his midget's stature as a younger teenager, although he retained his wiry frame, but he was much stronger and she was little more than a lightweight now. He could feel the rigidity in her muscles at his touch, and he could feel her fear.

He bent his head, and his mouth brushed against her forehead and hair. He could smell her – that strange, Hermione smell that was so distinctive, in spite of the illness. "It'll be okay," he promised her softly.

Her eyes lifted to his, and they were filled with a bitter anger at him for all that he had done. "Oh, Harry… it'll never be okay."

"Just close your eyes," he said hoarsely, swallowing.

He concentrated… destination, deliberation, determination or whatever that rubbish was (he never paid too much attention to it anyway)… and they were being sucked into that void between places and times, being pulled through the land towards London. And then, with a rush of cool air, they were standing outside Number 12, Grimmauld Place. And a distant clock struck one.

Harry lowered Hermione to the ground. She looked around her as if trying to drink in surroundings she hadn't seen in so long, while he fished out his magical house key. She seemed determined to walk on her own, although she stumbled a little, and he had to hold her hand. He unlocked the door and they slipped inside.

"I don't want to – " she protested angrily.

He smiled faintly. "There won't be anyone here to worry about. Ron lives here, but he's probably asleep at this hour, especially since I'm not home. Either that, or he has Luna with him in his room. I don't think anyone else is staying over, except maybe Lupin because he rather likes it here now that the broodiness has been removed and Sirius's portrait laughs and smiles quite a bit."

"Where's Mrs. Black?" she inquired, as they passed the hallway and entered the warmly lit kitchen. Harry lit a fire quickly, so as to warm the room up, and he heard Hermione sigh audibly in relief and sudden unexpected joy.

He grinned. "I gave her a bogey problem, so she rarely shows her face – or voice."

"You – you've brightened this place up wonderfully."

"Thanks."

There was an awkward pause. He went on a little lamely: "Look, I think there's some of Mrs. Weasley's casserole left over from my birthday thingy… so I think you should eat something, and I could heat in up in a second…"

She said nothing, which he took as acquiescence that she was reluctant to give him.

They remained in silence for a long time, Hermione clearly not speaking to him unless she had to, and he didn't know what to say. Nearly seven years of being best friends and almost a year of being more, and he didn't know what to say to her. He went about fetching the casserole from the fridge – he had retained many legacies of his upbringing as a Muggle – and heated it with a wave of his wand. Sometimes, it still felt odd to be able to use magic for something as simple and commonplace as this, to be legally allowed to do so outside school.

"Harry – tell me about the others."

He put the casserole on the table and spooned some out for her, but he stopped at her words and looked at her, startled. He was overjoyed that she was thawing enough to show how much she still cared – even if he felt a twinge of old jealousy that her interest was in the others and not in him – but he hadn't expected her to react so quickly.

Handing her a fork and the plate, he sat down opposite her, and said: "What do you want to know?"

"How they are, what they've been doing…"

"I'll tell you everything," he promised, "But it could take a while, so I think you should eat that and then get some sleep. We'll have time for this later."

"Will we?" she asked quietly.

He swallowed. "I'm sorry – that's tactless. I'll tell you tomorrow. Ron will help."

"Can you tell me if anyone's – dead?"

He hesitated, and then said: "Sturgis Podmore and Professor Trelawney were killed after you left. They were the only ones who died in the battle that you wouldn't know about… since then, everyone's fine. McGonagall is still Headmistress at Hogwarts. Snape, believe it or not, has been teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for the past three and a half years. Ginny's married to Terry now; Tonks is three months pregnant; and Bill and Fleur have a three-year-old daughter named Aurelia." He smiled. "And Ron and Luna might be getting engaged sometime in the near future, assuming Ron ever works up the courage to do it."

"I'm so happy for all of them," Hermione whispered, and it sounded like she had never felt something more strongly than at that moment. "They all deserve to be happy. They've been through so much."

"Don't you deserve to be happy, Hermione?"

"I'm not sure I do," she said softly, looking at her plate and taking the last bite.

He hesitated, and then asked: "And what about me?"

"Yes," she said after a pause, and she met his eyes for a brief, heart-rending moment. "I think you should find someone to be happy with. I think after all you've suffered and all you've done for everyone, you deserve happiness more than anybody else. That's the truth." She swallowed. "But I'm glad you've left me behind you. That's one road that would never have led to happiness."

He stood up, unable to bear it any longer. Her plate was empty anyway. "Let me show you to your room. It's the same one you had in our summer after fourth year, next to mine. It looks pretty nice. Ginny decorated it."

She said nothing, but allowed him to lead her upstairs, although the effort seemed to cost her what little remained of her energy. He saw her to her bed, and tucked her in like a small child. In her drowsy, exhausted haze, the smile she gave him as he reached out to turn off the bed-lamp, was one of gratitude and relief… almost as if she was saying, 'thanks for being here'. He gulped down the lump in his throat. He then spoke.

"Oh… I'm sorry, Hermione, I forgot… Winky – Winky died, too. She was hit by a spell meant for Dobby. He's never properly gotten over that."

"That's horrible," Hermione whispered, her eyes shining with tears.

As Harry turned out the light, bid her a soft goodnight, and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him, he felt a little guilty that he had used Winky's death to gauge how much compassion was left in Hermione. As Sirius had always said, you could gain the true measure of a man (or woman) by looking at how they felt about their inferiors, not their equals. He realized that underneath the shell she had built around herself, she hadn't changed a bit. He was suddenly desperate to save her… in more ways than one.

…


	4. Ron

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize, unless it's an original from one of my other stories, does not belong to me.

**A/N:** I'm sorry this chapter wasn't as long as people might have expected… I just didn't want to spoil the end of it by adding in the other characters in the same chapter. So we'll see how it goes! Thanks for the comments so far, and keep reviewing!

**Summary**:"Hello, Hermione," he said from the shadows. He watched the colour drain from her face. "No…" she whispered. He was a living nightmare… And that broke his heart.

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Four: Ron**

When Hermione opened her eyes, she panicked for a moment because she had no idea where she was. Then, slowly, the memory of the astonishing and heart-breaking previous night came back to her, and she remembered where she was: she was in her old bedroom in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, in Harry's house, where Harry had brought her the previous night because he had insisted they were going to find a way to reverse the sickness spell that had poisoned her…

Harry… she had seen him again. She remembered the way she had felt when she had set eyes on him for the first time in so long. He looked just the same as ever, only taller and fitter and if possible, even better looking than she'd remembered.

He had also looked far more tired. She'd seen a soul-deep weariness inside him, and she didn't flatter herself that it was because he had lost her so long ago.

_Oh, Harry…_

She slowly pushed herself upright in the bed. It was difficult to move quickly now; the illness had sunk deep into her bones and walking tired her out so quickly, it made her want to burst into tears. But this morning, she was determined to get downstairs without anyone's help. Her heart hammered at the thought of facing Harry again and seeing the pain in his green eyes… she hated that he blamed himself, but could do nothing about it. Her heart missed another beat as she thought of seeing the others again, facing _them_.

Hermione dragged herself out of the bed, her wand clutched in one hand. She fell over as soon as she'd disentangled herself from the bedclothes, because her head began spinning dangerously. And it was so frightfully cold out of the covers. Stifling a moan of pain and frustration, she practically crawled across towards the bag with her clothes and things in it. Furious with herself, feeling unimaginably pathetic, she managed to pull herself up using the bed, and spent the next ten minutes stripping off her clothes, shivering uncontrollably, and reaching for fresh clothes. She pulled on jeans, a T-shirt, and in spite of the fact that the house would be warm, pulled on a hooded jacket over the T-shirt. She slipped her socked feet into shoes, and brushed out her limp wavy curls so that they presented the appearance of having some life in them. Then she sat down wearily on the end of the bed, her energy spent for the time being and her body creaking from frozen muscles.

Eventually, she forced herself to stand up again. Steeling herself to ignore the spinning of her head, she walked a little unsteadily towards the door. Turning the knob slowly, she opened it and walked out into the familiar corridor, making her way with gritted teeth towards the stairs. She had a fierce pride and dignity. She was not about to let any of them pity her.

The stairs presented an obstacle she was not yet ready to overcome. Resisting the urge to burst into tears of frustration, she instead sat down on the top step, and slid down one step at a time. Her face burned and she prayed no one would see her like this. She couldn't bear it. She didn't want their pity. She wanted them to know she could survive fine without them… she wanted them to know she didn't need them. She didn't want them to see her shaking on the steps, sliding down them because she couldn't walk.

Her eyes filled with tears when she reached the bottom, but she blinked them away and leaned back against the lowest step behind her, breathing hard and trying to find the will or energy to get up again. She had never wanted to just wither and die as badly.

"Hi, Hermione," said a soft, faintly singsong voice.

Hermione's heart slammed against her chest, but she bit her lip and turned her head slowly to look at Luna Lovegood coming down the steps to stand beside her. Luna… Luna was the one person Hermione could face in such a position. She didn't know why, just that it didn't hurt so much to see herself at such a disadvantage in front of Luna. She managed a weak smile.

"Hi, Luna," she said.

"It's good to see you again, Hermione," Luna said in her dreamy voice, and added with her knack for stating truths most people avoided mentioning, "We thought you'd never forgive us."

"I blame you for nothing, Luna, you know that."

"Ronald told me what happened at the cave that night," Luna explained, smiling vaguely, "I thought, when they came back looking like someone they loved had just died, that they had just bumped into a nasty Flibbertigibbet."

"A – what?" said Hermione, amazed to find herself biting back an unwilling smile in spite of herself. "No such thing exists, Luna."

"Says you," Luna went on serenely, "Daddy and I almost went on an expedition after my fifth year o capture a specimen for the Ministry, but we realized that they're supposed to be extinct in Belgium these days. But the point is… they hadn't bumped into one. It was as if someone they loved _had_ just died. You'd left."

"I had to," croaked Hermione, the pain in her muscles nothing to the pain in her heart.

Luna smiled a little. "Oh, I know. I just wish it hadn't been like that. I like you a lot, you know, even though you are really narrow-minded about fantastic beasts."

Hermione half-grinned, the pain easing a little. "Thanks, Luna."

"You look like you might've hurt yourself on the stairs," said Luna with a comforting smile, reaching down and linking her arms under Hermione's to help her to her feet. "It's that last step… I've tripped and fallen flat on my face twice on it. Ronald keeps asking Harry to fix it, but I don't think Harry's in any condition to pay much attention to things like the stairs."

Hermione felt a flush rise to her face. There was an uncomfortable truth again. Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't realized that she'd actually missed Luna. As she got to her feet again and Luna squeezed her arms before letting go, Hermione felt the tears rise again at the sweet gesture.

"We should go have breakfast," Luna went on to say, walking by Hermione's side and keeping pace as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hermione nodded, blinking furiously.

She felt somehow more confident entering with Luna beside her. It felt like she had a true ally with her, because Hermione couldn't bear the thought of thinking of Harry as a true ally, and there was one less person to face in the big showdown. Hermione gulped. It was time to face the past.

When she walked into the kitchen, the first thing she saw was a patch of bright red hair. He was bent over… Hermione blinked in astonishment… a _book_. Hermione stood still for a moment, taking in the sight of Ron, the boy who had been one of her best friends, a boy she had once had a monstrous crush on… the boy who was now a tall, lanky young man with a mop of flaming hair that he had let grow a little so that it hung loosely around his ears, and a spray of freckles across his nose.

She had missed him so much. She had missed them all so much that it broke her heart now to think about all that had happened to them, and all they had lost. And Ron, who was now dating Luna (Hermione couldn't help smiling slightly to herself; she had thought they would never get together after all the delaying and avoiding Ron had done!) was now sitting at the table in front of her, his head bent over a book so intently that he hadn't noticed her… no, honestly, she really wanted to know what Ronald Weasley was doing with a book? The boy couldn't even research a topic for his homework, and the pictures she were seeing didn't exactly look like Quidditch teams…

In fact, Hermione suddenly realized with a jolt of both unfamiliar amusement and shock, the pictures appeared to be of naked women…

"_Ron_!" she gasped, completely forgetting herself.

Luna was smiling dreamily to herself.

He had bitten into an apple when she had gasped out loud, and at the sound of a voice he knew all too well, Ron choked on the apple and began to splutter. He raised his eyes to Hermione, and they bulged – although whether this was from the apple bit stuck in his throat, or from shock upon seeing her, Hermione could not quite tell.

She was suddenly aware that for the first time in nearly four years, she was looking straight into the youthful blue eyes – eyes that were darker and somehow more pained than she remembered – of Ron Weasley. Oh, and that he was choking himself to death.

"'Er – my – knee," he choked desperately, gagging at his throat and flailing wildly for his wand, which lay on the table, conveniently out of reach.

Hermione looked quickly at Luna, who was standing serenely as if the man of her dreams wasn't choking on an apple bit in front of her, and pulled out her wand without thinking. "_Obstructis decitus_!" she said, summoning up whatever strength she could to pour her magic into the spell. A jet of light danced from the tip of her wand to Ron's throat, and his airway cleared.

Ron coughed a few more times, then glared at his wand, before his expression slowly changed to one of incredulous amazement. Then he raised his gaze to Hermione's again, and they looked at each other for a long time.

"When did you get here?" he finally asked, stammering a little.

Hermione blinked back sudden tears, and fought the urge to sink down into a chair with weariness. "Harry made me come here last night," she managed to explain, "I'm going to be staying here until I can… figure something out."

"Y-you're not staying for good?" Ron said, sounding like she had just hit him.

"I don't know, Ron," she said quietly.

He said nothing, only looked down at the magazine in front of him absently, before he suddenly seemed to realize what it was and he yelped and shut it quickly, looking faintly embarrassed. "Er – " he stammered, looking at her as he might have Professor McGonagall had she been the one to catch him indulging in a favourite Muggle pastime, "Seamus – he – er – introduced me to _Playboy_."

"Yes, I gathered at much," Hermione said tartly, before she could stop herself. She blinked, realizing what had just happened: she and Ron had behaved exactly as they might have four years before.

It was too much for her. She slowly pulled out a chair from the table, and sat down, savouring the warmth of the fire roaring in the grate. She had a strong feeling Harry had not come down yet, and so had not told Ron or Luna anything about her illness. She fought back the exhaustion and nausea for a little while, and tried to avoid Ron's gaze, which was fixed nervously on her as if he expected her to get up and hex him again. Luna was still being depressingly silent; it would have helped if she had ventured forth some kind of ice-breaking funny absurdity right now.

"Er – yeah – so, would you like something to drink or eat, Hermione?" Ron asked her, sounding extremely polite now, as well as nervous. "I think there's some Butterbeer somewhere about, and I could make toast if you like – "

"That's all right, Ron," she said slowly, "I think just a Butterbeer would be okay, thanks."

He nodded, and turned away to the get the drink so hurriedly that she nearly smiled, and would have if it hadn't all been so heart-breaking. She thought about all the times she had Ron had bantered pointlessly, argued incessantly, how they had never thought twice about being rude to each other.

Where had that easy friendship gone?

"I'll leave you to get the drinks then, Ronald," Luna suddenly said vaguely, "And I'll visit the Burrow by Floo Powder. You don't mind if I tell them you're here, do you, Hermione? It's just that I know they'd like to see you… especially Ginny. They want to say sorry."

Hermione tried not to wince at Luna's bluntness. Ron shot her a fierce look from under red hair, and quickly turned back when Hermione glanced at him. At Hermione's silence, which Luna must have taken as agreement, Luna ventured out of the kitchen, humming dreamily to herself, and vanished in the direction of the old tapestry room. Hermione briefly wondered whether the Black family tree was still up on the wall, or how Sirius's portrait was doing.

As Ron fetched the Butterbeer and came back to hand it to her, Hermione's mind was suddenly full of a flash of memories from those eight or nine months after their sixth year. She remembered she, Harry and Ron restoring one of Sirius's old photographs and using a spell Dumbledore had invented to make it a real painting like Mrs. Black's or Dumbledore's, and then hearing Sirius's voice again and how happy Harry had been… she remembered coming across the old locket in Kreacher's old den, and realizing it was a Horcrux, and destroying it (nearly at the cost of Hermione's life)… she remembered how she and Ron had realized their feelings for one another were not much more than large crushes that dwindled into a firm and lasting friendship, stronger than before, and how they'd both realized that they'd been in love with different people for so long and just not acknowledged it to themselves…

They had gotten so close over those months, Hermione thought with a sudden wave of bittersweet sorrow, and then… look at how it had all ended.

Harry was still a wreck, probably torn apart by guilt more than his old feelings for her. Ron looked so hurt, so afraid, so sorry. She didn't know about the others, but she suspected the devastation of the friendship between the three of them had affected everyone in some way. And she… she was broken.

"Hermione?" Ron said tentatively, as if she might send birds flying at him again if he irritated her. She looked up, realizing he must have called her name a few times.

"Sorry," she said, "I was just… thinking about something. Um – so what have you been doing?"

"Over the past couple of years, you mean?"

"Yes."

Ron half-smiled, biting his lip a little in an old partial grin that tugged at her heartstrings. "Oh… well… I tried out for the Chudley Cannons. I figured that I wasn't great at Quidditch or anything, but I still might have a chance. Well, I'm now a reserve Keeper. I play quite often, actually, and it's fairly decent money, I suppose."

"That's great, Ron," she said, genuinely happy for him, because she knew how much he had always loved Quidditch, and his favourite team. "You don't have practice or anything today?"

He shook his head a little awkwardly. "It's a Saturday. You could've knocked me over with a feather when I got in. I suppose being friends with Harry Potter didn't hurt much." He grinned, and laughed a little, shrugging. Hermione recognized a note of pride in his voice – not of himself, but pride of Harry. And that touched her.

Hermione realized how much Ron had changed. He was no longer jealous of his best friend. Instead, he had probably come to realize that being Harry Potter came with far more pain than privilege. The Quidditch selection was just probably an old joke.

"Somehow I doubt they pick Keepers based on their friends," Hermione remarked dryly, and then smiled a little, "I mean – I'm the Quidditch expert, after all, I should know."

Ron laughed, and then looked faintly guilty, as if he had broken a rule.

Hermione found herself wishing with all her heart, not for the first time, that they could go back to those days… go back years, even… go back to when they knew how to stick by each other and knew how to laugh without wanting to cry, and when they didn't know the meaning of betrayal…

"Hermione?" Ron suddenly said, and as she looked up at him, she realized there was a tear trickling down his long nose. "I – I'm so sorry."

She felt like he'd just slapped her. "No, Ron, don't – "

"Please," he begged, "Just listen to me, or I won't be able to say it, and then I'll never work up the nerve to say this again to you. I dream about it all the time, I have nightmares, and I wake up calling out to you, begging you to come back and to forgive me. But you keep walking away… and now that you're here, I need to say this before you walk away from us again. I'm sorry. I was so terribly wrong. I just saw what you had done, what danger you had put Harry in, and what it had done to Harry… and I couldn't do anything but stand by him. He needed me, and it was wrong of me not to question why, or not to realize that we owed you more trust than we gave you, that we at least owed it to you to listen… and I'm sorry for what I did, because I dream every night of the way you begged me to listen to you, not to do it… I remember how I shut you down. I'll never be able to forgive myself for it and I don't deserve forgiveness for treating you that way… I owed you more than that… but I just need you to know that if I could take that back and have you back the way you were, I'd give anything."

He said all this very fast, his words stumbling over each other, and the single tear on the end of his nose glistening in the firelight and morning light through the windows. Hermione stared at him, in shock, unable to believe that Ron had just said those words. There was a lump in her throat, and an ache deep inside her heart. How many times had she dreamed they might say those words to her? How many times had she wished they could all go back?

But suddenly, as she looked across at him, she realized that she didn't need to hear his apology after all. Because she understood, and she had forgiven him that very night, only she hadn't realized it then.

She thought about bursting into tears and flinging her arms around Ron when he had promised to help her with Buckbeak's appeal. She thought about the Yule Ball, and how childishly jealous she and Ron had been of Fleur and Viktor (respectively, of course), and how they'd mistaken their feelings for each other for the kind of love Ron and Luna now obviously shared. She thought about how he'd held her during Dumbledore's funeral, and stroked her hair… how he'd let her cry on his shoulder after he'd confessed his feelings for Luna and she had sobbed that Harry was clearly in love with Ginny… and how he had ingeniously (yes, it was true, Ron Weasley had been ingenious!) helped Harry and her get together nearly four years ago…

She had never been angry with Ron. She had just been, for some time, hurt that he had believed in her betrayal as well, until she had realized it was stupid to break her heart over that when that had been what she'd wanted in the first place. She could forgive the others, but most of all, she could forgive wrong. She didn't even need to forgive him.

Hermione buried her face in her hands and began to sob. "Oh, Ron!"

"Hermione!" he hurried around the table and awkwardly patted her on the back, pulling her a little nervously into his arms. "Don't cry… I didn't mean to make you cry, I really didn't!"

"No," she wailed, pulling back and smiling tearfully at him, "I'm crying because I'm glad!"

"Eh?" he stared.

"You have no idea how difficult it's been wrong, not having a friend in the world! And now, if you still want, I still have you!"

"If I still want?" he asked in a dazed voice. "Hermione, of course I want to have you back! You're my best friend… after Harry, of course," he added honestly, but he grinned at her. Then he suddenly looked doubtful. "But I don't understand – I thought you hated me – hated Harry – "

"Oh, Ron," she said, shaking her head and smiling through her tears, "I never hated you, and I never hated Harry! I loved you so much that it hurt so much, that was all. And…" she swallowed, regained control, and tried to explain. "You know how much you meant to me as a friend, Ron, but all the time we've known each other, I've always relied on you to stand by and protect Harry when I couldn't. Don't you remember how upset I used to get when Harry took your side over mine, but it never bothered me when _you_ took his? And how furious I was with you when you fought with him during our fourth year?"

"Well, yeah," said Ron, "But I thought you just wanted me to watch over him, and to stick by him, that's all."

"You were right. Which is why I understand why you took his side, again, that night when you found out what I had done. Ron, you stood by Harry and cast me out, and as much as that hurt me, I will always be grateful to you for being Harry's friend. You were right… Harry needed you more than I did then. And I would have expected nothing less from your loyalty than for you to stick by him the way you did. Which is why," she added, wiping away the last of her tears, "I don't have to forgive you for anything."

"Not to mention that I didn't hurt you half as much as Harry did," Ron said softly, a smile in his eyes. Hermione was amazed he could be so perceptive at such unusual moments.

She nodded. "No offence, Ron, but I loved him. I loved him so much that when he believed that I had betrayed him and couldn't trust me enough to even question it – even though I didn't want him to question it – that hurt. And when he wouldn't even listen to me, he destroyed me. And that's why I'll never be able to trust him enough to love him again. I'll never be able to trust him not to hurt me all over again like that."

Ron was silent for a long time, and then he said, and he sounded a little awkward: "Er – not to pry or anything, Hermione – but you still love him, don't you?"

Hermione closed her eyes. It wasn't until she had seen him the night before that she had realized it. She loved him. She had always loved Harry and she always would… that was what made the gnawing pain inside her so much worse. Ron was like the earth to her, vital and protective… but Harry was like the air and water. She couldn't live without him.

She was dying.

Hermione nearly laughed bitterly. She was dying.

Ron reached out and gave her a quick hug. "I'm so glad you're back," he mumbled.

"I'm so glad I have you back," she whispered back to him. "You look tall."

He grinned.

"Where _is_ Harry?" Hermione finally asked, when they settled down to drink their Butterbeer.

Ron rubbed the back of his neck. "I checked on him when I came down a little earlier, and he was fast asleep. I don't think he went to bed until very late last night, because when I woke at around three, I could hear him pacing his room. He hasn't been sleeping very well."

Hermione appreciated that Ron did not make it sound like an accusation. She knew, and also appreciated, that to Ron, Harry would come first.

A few minutes later, Harry himself walked in. His eyes first went to Hermione, and they held a great deal of concern and a hint of pain as they probed hers. She wanted to hug him and take that tentative look away, but she would never again risk herself after what had happened. Then Harry looked between her and Ron, at the companionable atmosphere between them, and she saw a look flicker across his face. His face was impassive, but in his eyes, she thought she could see him trying to hide that he was torn between being overjoyed that she was opening up, and a little hurt that it had been Ron that she had forgiven first.

What she couldn't know was Harry understood why she had forgiven Ron first… after all, he knew how much she had loved him, Harry, back then, because he loved her as much, if not more. But he couldn't help a characteristic twinge of jealousy, which aggravated him. It was unfair to be a little jealous that his best friend shared a bit of the old relationship he'd once had with Hermione.

Harry forced it back, and grinned at them both. "Where's Luna?"

"She went to the Burrow, mate," Ron said with a wry expression, "You'd better be prepared to serve lunch for at least twenty."

"Twenty?" Hermione said weakly to Ron.

"You're pretty popular these days," Ron told her with a smile.

Hermione smiled a little, and then looked at Harry, who was getting a bottle of Butterbeer for himself. She couldn't help feeling glad that he was attempting to act like everything was normal, because that made it easier for both of them, and with Ron there, they might actually be able to believe in the pretence. But she missed him.

He brought his bottle back to the table, and said: "How are you feeling?"

"Better," she told him honestly, "I slept really well, thank you. Um – I was hoping you could find me whatever extra books you can, apart from what you have in the library here – I don't think I should waste any time before I start looking."

"I'll Apparate over to the Ministry later today, and bring back whatever I can," he replied, "They won't refuse me anything."

"Harry's an Auror now," Ron told Hermione, "Freelance. Does Hogwarts business, mostly."

Hermione looked at Harry, and meant every word: "I'm proud of you, Harry."

"Thanks," he said quietly. "Er – so what do you think we should get for lunch this afternoon?"

"Mum will take care of it. What books were you talking about?"

"Erm – " Harry paused, and then looked across at Hermione with a look that clearly said 'you didn't tell him?'. She shook her head slightly. Harry swallowed a little, and then said to her: "I think you should tell Ron before we tell the others."

"I agree," Hermione said, and looked Harry straight in the eye, wishing she didn't have to see his pain. "Can – can you tell him?"

Ron looked between them, sounding baffled. "Tell me what? Are you two getting married?"

For a brief moment, Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, and they both almost rolled their eyes as they had done so many times in their younger times. It was reassuring to know that whatever else happened, whether they were teenagers or fresh adults, that Ron would always be Ron.

…


	5. The Reunion

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize, unless it's an original from one of my other stories, does not belong to me. The song used in this chapter is "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

**A/N:** Okay, so this is a satisfyingly long chapter, and I really enjoyed writing this one too! I know the bit with a certain Horcrux is too easy, but I didn't want adventure to be more central to the plot than the romance and emotion. Also, as you can see, I'm a sucker for songs in my stories! If that's a problem for anyone, I'm sorry! Enjoy!

**Summary**:"Hello, Hermione," he said from the shadows. He watched the colour drain from her face. "No…" she whispered. He was a living nightmare… And that broke his heart.

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Five: The Reunion**

-FLASHBACK-

_The wind was blowing hard outside Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Inside, it was warm and the fires were enchanted so that they provided extra warmth against the bitter English winter outside, but Hermione still shivered a little as she walked into the kitchen. The house had only been inhabited properly by Harry for a few weeks, so not much changing had been done to alter the gloomy and dismal atmosphere._

_Perhaps that was why she felt a slight chill. Or maybe it was because she knew what they were about to do and what they were about to face. Swallowing slightly, she walked up to Harry and Ron, who were standing at the table with a pile of books between them. Ron looked nervous, while Harry was doing some last minute poring over the books to find _anything_ that might help them. Hermione tried not to look at him too long. It gave her a shock every time she did, to realize how she felt about him anew, as well as a twinge of pain, because she knew he was madly in love with Ginny… even if he had broken up with her after Dumbledore's funeral._

"_Here it is," she said, clearing her throat and holding up the golden Slytherin locket. "I got it out of the box I charmed and kept it in for safety." For a moment, over the thread of the locket, her eyes locked with Harry's green ones._

"_Wonder if we'll ever find out how Sirius's brother wound up finding it," Ron said, eyeing the locket with distaste and apprehension, as if there was nothing worse in the world than spending an afternoon dwelling over a living portion of Lord Voldemort's soul. "Have to say, though, that after only three weeks on the job – finding the first Horcrux is unbelievable!"_

_Hermione smiled. "We have reason to be proud."_

"_Actually, _you_ have reason to be proud," Harry said with a grin, "You found it, remember?"_

"_Only because I was trying to collect Kreacher's things to give back to him."_

"_Mmm-hmm," said Harry, smiling the smile that wrung her heart. She glanced away, and down at the locket instead. Their smiles all slowly faded as they realized the gravity of what they were about to do._

_Hermione cleared her throat again. "All right, so we've worked out that the only reasonable way to open the locket so far seems to use 'Alohomora'. An idea so simple, Voldemort would never assume that anyone would think of it. So all one of us has to do is point our wands at the Horcrux and say the word… I assume the target of whatever comes out at us is likely to be the person who casts the spell to unleash it."_

"_Probably," the other two agreed._

"_And once it – he – comes out – we have to improvise?" Ron asked, looking a little green._

_Hermione forced a grin. "Yes."_

"_So who casts the spell?"_

"_I will, of course," said Harry at once, "You think I'm letting either of you –?"_

"_I think Hermione should do it," Ron said, and Hermione could have sworn there was a hint of unholy mischief lurking in his face. "After all, if worse comes to worse, Harry can always play the knight in shining armour and rescue her."_

"_I'm not letting her take that risk!" said Harry angrily. "I'll do it!"_

"_Certainly not," said Hermione matter-of-factly, examining the locket carefully, "You can't cast the spell, Harry. Because if Voldemort's one-seventh of a soul comes out and attacks the person the spells casts, you could die. And then the wizarding world will be through. Ron and I, on the other hand, are dispensable."_

"_Thanks," said Ron bitterly, but his eyes twinkled. Hermione shot him a quelling look. Harry looked furious._

"_You're not dispensable to me!" he shouted._

_Hermione shushed him with a wave of one hand. He looked like he was going to hex her before she did anything she would regret, but before he could even raise his wand, hers was up and she took a deep breath before pointing the wand at the Horcrux lying on the table, and said loudly and clearly: "_Alohomora_."_

_Amazingly, it worked. There was a hissing noise, like steam escaping a kettle, and the Horcrux burst open in a glow of green flames. Out of the flames, to their horror, emerged a life-size form of the Dark Lord himself. He was translucent, rather like a ghost only a little denser, but he looked real and terrifying enough. Hermione staggered back, her wand trembling, as the malevolent eyes fixed upon her. She had never come face to face with any form of Voldemort before. She had never even seen what Tom Riddle had looked like. This was worse than a nightmare._

_It looked like this might have been about the third Horcrux Voldemort must have made, because the image captured was an imprint of himself in his early twenties, his face only slightly distorted and melted, but the eyes glowing red enough to send a chill right into her very soul. She wanted to scream, but she knew that for Harry, she had to fight this pseudo, wandless Voldemort before he killed her._

_Ron was shouting something. Harry was trying to reach her, but something had happened and it was like she and soul-Voldemort were trapped inside a large bubble from which neither could escape and no one could enter. Hermione was trembling and drenched in sweat, but she raised her wand and screamed "_INCENDIO!_"_

_There was a shrill, unearthly scream. Soul-Voldemort was on fire, his translucent robes and body set ablaze by the potent blue flames conjured by Hermione. She stood still, frozen with the horror of it, trying to find a way to end it for good… for the spell would not last long, and a wizard of Voldemort's power, even a partial bit of his soul, would find a way to put her at a disadvantage if she hesitated or waited too long. But she didn't have it in her… she couldn't… say _Avada Kedavra

_She suddenly realized her strength was being sapped. She felt like the magic and life was being physically drained from her, that Voldemort was using her life force to sustain that of his soul. Like with Ginny. She fell to her knees and tried to struggle up, desperate to end this somehow, but she couldn't… she was dying, surely, all the life was being sucked out of her by this monstrous evil… Hermione screamed from the pain and the exhaustion, screamed because she couldn't bear the idea of failing and of abandoning Harry and Ron like this, because she couldn't bear the idea of leaving Harry… she realized she was sobbing, and that every second lost was a second in which she grew limper and more tired. This was not death. This was something far worse, the depletion of her very humanity. She couldn't bear it._

"_HERMIONE!" Through a haze, she heard Harry's voice screaming desperately to her. "Hermione! You need to destroy the Horcrux, not him! That's what I did with the diary! You need to destroy the locket!"_

_It penetrated her consciousness._

_With an almighty effort, Hermione wrenched herself to her feet, pointed her wand past the soul-Voldemort, whose cries had ceased because the fire was fading, and using everything she had, she shrieked as loudly and as powerfully as she could. "_OBLIVIATE_!"_

_A jet of golden light shot from the end of her wand and struck the golden locket square in the centre. She didn't know whether or not it worked, she didn't know if there was a chance that she might live after all… all she knew was that she had used the last of her strength, and if this didn't work, then nothing would and she might have just unleashed a second Voldemort on the world._

_The idea was terrifying._

_But Hermione felt for one thrilling instant that she could sense a bit of life flooding back into her._

_The bubble vanished, and the next thing she knew, she was collapsed on the ground, drenched in a cold sweat and breathing shallow because she was so drained and exhausted. Life was returning, but it was coming back slowly, and she was so tired… but Harry was there. He and Ron were kneeling beside her, and as she looked up at Harry, she saw his expression for the first time, and saw what she hadn't been able to see that night at the Department of Mysteries._

_She saw the horrible fear. Fear for her. That he would lose her._

"_Harry," she whispered, and then croaked: "I need… water. Please." _

_Ron was grinning broadly, looking from Harry to Hermione. "I'll get it!" he said, sounding hideously cheerful, in Hermione's opinion. He ran right out of the room to fetch it, in spite of the fact that they were in the kitchen._

"_Are you all right?" Harry asked anxiously. "How do you feel?"_

_Hermione smiled. "Peachy."_

_He grinned, but it faded. "Never do that again," he said, anger throbbing his voice, "I won't – I will NOT – risk your life like that again. I'm not about to lose someone else I love on a fool's errand, when I could have done it on my own."_

"_I'm glad I spared you that," she told him distastefully, shuddering weakly. "It was awful. But it's over. Three down, three to go – and then there's just the Dark Lord himself."_

"_Look, let me get you something – "_

_Hermione pushed herself up slightly and reached for his sleeve. "Harry," she said in exasperation, "If you _must_ play the hero, at least do it the right way this time!"_

_He frowned. "What are you talking about?"_

"Kiss_ me."_

_He did._

-END FLASHBACK-

…

Tears were slipping freely down Hermione's face. She was sitting in the tapestry room of Harry's house with a thick and very old book in front of her. It was from the Grimmauld Place library, and it seemed promising, with a title "_Unusual and Deadly Spells of the North_". After breaking the news to Ron, she had slipped away to do what she did best: read books. But her mind was anywhere but on the printed words before her.

She bit her lips, trying to stop crying. She loved him so much. Every memory was so clearly written in her mind, like fire in stone. She remembered that look of fear on his face when he had thought she was going to die. Now she really was dying, and she thought she had seen a ghost of that fear lurking in his green eyes. She loved him so much. It was unbearable, being so close to him, and knowing she could never be with him… because if she ever let the shell crack and allowed herself to trust him again, the pain would be far, far worse if he ever shattered her again. She knew she shared part, if not most, of the blame. But she just couldn't risk it again.

It was unbearable. It was worse than facing any Horcrux. She touched her lips, remembering the long-lost memory of his kissing her.

"Hermione?"

She looked up in surprise at the questioning, gentle voice. Seeing only an empty canvas on the wall when she had entered earlier, she had almost forgotten about Sirius's painting. But there he was now, peering concernedly at her from the portrait on the wall not far from her. Standing up, she went towards it, smiling weakly.

"Hello, Sirius," she said, sniffling a little, "I'm sorry you had to see that. How've you been? It's been a long time."

He gave her a fierce look. "You've been gone a long time."

She nodded, sniffling. "Too long."

"Hermione," his face and voice softened, "What's the matter? I don't remember ever seeing you really cry in all the time I knew you. I thought you would have been happy being back with Ron and Harry. Harry, especially." The beard-roughened jaw lifted as he smiled. Then he sobered. "I heard Harry talking to Ron about the spell Dolohov cast. Is that it?"

"Not really," she said tearfully, "It – it's Harry."

"Problematic, isn't he?" remarked Sirius wryly, grinning. "Believe me, I know. Looks a damned sight too much like his father for my sanity."

She smiled through her tears.

"Look, Hermione, you know I can't give you much," he went on, his eyes full of concern, "But I can tell you Harry's been horribly hurt. I believe he still loves you, possibly more than he ever did, but only you can really find that out. But my advice is to concentrate on finding a cure to that bloody spell first. You're no use to anyone dead."

Laughing slightly, Hermione wiped away her tears and smiled gratefully at the familiar face and body leaning against the painting frame and watching her. "Thanks, Sirius."

He winked. "My pleasure."

There was a sound at the door, and both of them looked back. Harry was a bit startled to enter the tapestry room and find both Sirius and Hermione staring at him. Hermione looked a bit better since getting a good night's sleep and eating something, but Harry couldn't help counting down the minutes in his head. It felt like a leaden ache growing heavier each moment.

He forced a mild smile, however, and merely said: "I'm glad you two have finally caught up."

Sirius was looking between them with an expression oddly reminiscent of Ron's sometimes as he said: "Oh… I'll just – er – be right back, all right, Harry?"

And he vanished from his portrait before they could say anything.

As Hermione walked slowly back towards the desk closer to him, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hooded jacket to keep them warm, Harry thought he saw the trace of a tear staining her cheek. Had she been crying?

"How are you feeling?" he asked, and then cringed. It didn't help that he made her feel like an invalid.

She smiled slightly at him, apparently not minding his concern. "All right. I haven't gotten much done, though, which is a pity, because I thought I'd be able to do more this past hour and a half. I'm afraid my research skills must have rusted over the years I've been away from it."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said bracingly, "You'll soon have loads of people desperate to help, so an unproductive hour and half doesn't matter."

She shrugged a little. "My mind kept wandering… to other things."

He sat down on the desk and looked at her, standing only a foot or two from him and staring at him with an oddly sad look in his eyes. A look that made him want to take something and smash it against a wall. He risked more intimate conversation, in the hope that she might, somehow, find it in her heart to let him in again. "To what other things?"

"I was thinking about that day we got rid of the Slytherin locket Horcrux," she said quietly, looking at him steadily but with a hint of pain in her brown eyes. "It was… an interesting day."

He would never forget a detail of it.

"It was one of the worst, and one of the best, days of my life," he said softly.

"It was one of the best of mine," she replied, just as softly.

He dropped his legs to the floor. "Hermione," he swallowed, "Can't we –?"

"Harry, please don't do this," she said, sounding hoarse and hurt, "I can't, you know I can't. Neither I nor you will ever forget that night, and I can't live with that hanging over my head, knowing what happened. Things have happened, Harry. We can't pretend none of it ever happened. I – I can never really trust you again, Harry."

"Could you ever love me again?" he asked, not sure how he dared.

She swallowed visibly. "Probably not," she said, and her mouth trembled, as if they were the hardest words she had ever had to say. Almost, anyway.

He felt like she had just killed him. The irony of it was that he deserved it. He straightened, keeping what he felt carefully hidden. He didn't want to add the burden that she had hurt him to the weight that already weighed on her shoulders. Anything was better than not having Hermione around at all. He would make sure she was all right again, and perhaps one day, they could be friends once more.

Maybe.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I just want to you I understand why you did what you did. I understand that it was vital that I hated you in those few crucial moments, because we would have lost if I hadn't. And I just want you to know that no sacrifice will ever equal that, what you risked and gave up that night to save my life."

"It's over now," she said, and she stepped closer to him, and she touched his cheek. Her voice was dignified but slightly shaky as she said: "I don't want you to ever feel that you owe me your life, Harry. I won't have that debt weighing over your head in everything you do for me. I don't want that to be the reason you're trying to help me find a cure to this illness. I want you to do it because you genuinely don't want me dead. Because you remember who I once was, who we once were."

"I'm doing it because I care."

"I suppose," she said softly, "That's good enough for me."

He wished he could tell her. He wished he could risk his heart again and just tell her, willing to take the crushing pain of rejection again. But he didn't want to make things more difficult for her. That, and he, Harry Potter, was a coward.

So he merely smiled, squeezed her arm in an old friendly gesture, and said with a twinkling grin that wasn't as hard to pull off as he thought it would be: "I thought I'd warn you before you get crushed by a thousand arms, Hermione, but the Weasleys and a few other… er… guests are here, with food, and are rather keen on seeing you. I kept them at bay in the kitchen by saying I'd come and get you, but somehow I doubt they'll wait very long – "

He trailed off with a resigned gesture as something reminiscent of a cannon came thundering past him, shoving him aside.

"HERMIONE!"

There was a flash of red, and Ginny had thrown her arms around Hermione, who nearly fell over and looked like she was choking as the redhead ruthlessly hugged her. There were tears in Hermione's eyes, but she also looked very faint.

Harry leapt forward and pulled Ginny off Hermione with a strength that seemed to surprise Ginny, who gave him an arch look as if to demand to know what he thought he was doing, and did he really think he could keep Hermione to himself? Harry pushed her gently away from Hermione, whom he then steadied with a supporting arm under her elbow, and he said fiercely: "Ginny, she's in no condition to be choked to death, believe me. We'd all like to keep her around a little longer, if that's all right with you."

"Yes, yes, Harry," said Ginny, rolling her eyes and looking at Hermione. Then, to everyone's utter astonishment (for more people had come into the room), she burst into tears. "I'm so sorry, Hermione!" she sobbed, burying her head in Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione patted her on the back gently. "Oh dear," she said in a wry voice, "Am I going to have to go through this with _everyone_ who's here?"

That broke the tension. Everyone in the room laughed, and the Weasleys poured onto Hermione (using caution when hugging her because Harry and Ron were standing like watchful sentinels) in a wave of red. Harry knew that they all took her words as a sign that she forgave them, and even if it couldn't erase their guilt completely, it at least assured them that she was as happy to see them as they were to see her.

He couldn't help feeling that Hermione had forgiven them for what they had all done too easily. He didn't honestly think he, or they, deserved her forgiveness after the cruel way they had doubted her and then refused to listen to her explanation. But he understood why she did it. He understood, though it hurt, that he was the one who had hurt her the most, not them. Vengeful when hurt she might be, but she was not essentially vindictive and could not hold a deep grudge. And he understood that she knew she was dying and that, if she never found a cure, that she didn't want to spend what could be her last days in the world estranged from those she cared most about.

The thought made him ache.

But he kept his mind rational enough to make a mental note to call her parents and try to arrange a Portkey to bring them back from America (where they had gone after she had disappeared) so they could see her again.

His mind was pulled away from these thoughts by the sight of Fred and George approaching Hermione with identical grins on their faces, last of the Weasley clan to reach her. With the exception of Percy, who had, of course, been killed during the war, they were all there. The twins proceeded to present Hermione with a bag of Dungbombs and a personalized Patented Daydream Charm, and then they each pumped her hand vigorously – a little too vigorously for Harry's liking.

"Absolutely _spiffing_ to see you, Hermione," George said enthusiastically, ignoring his mother, who was already fussing over her.

"Thanks, F – sorry, I mean, George," she said, a smile cracking the drawn look on her face.

As they flooded out of the now overcrowded tapestry room and back into the much larger and airier kitchen, Harry realized everything was as shocked as he had been to see what condition Hermione was in after the past few years. But he was grateful to them for not mentioning it. He really didn't want Hermione to have to explain what had happened to her right now, or to feel self-conscious about it. She looked much better after a bath and in fresh clothes, with her hair washed and brushed, but the hollowness of her cheekbones and her lost weight were blatantly obvious. Harry wanted nothing more than to just take care of her.

There were several more people waiting in the kitchen with their Butterbeers and Firewhiskeys all ready. Ron grabbed a Firewhiskey, ignoring Hermione's disapproving look, a circumstance that caused much sniggering and grinning all around. Harry felt like it was almost his birthday party all over again, with one crucial addition and a significant number missing. Fortunately, Mrs. Weasley had kept the news to only 'intimate' friends of Hermione, Ron and Harry's.

Hermione was hugging Remus Lupin with almost radiant joy on her face. Harry remembered the two of them had shared a special bond because of Hermione protecting his secret all their third year, and her sympathy with his condition. Lupin, too, had always admired Hermione's loyalty, compassion and intelligence.

"I'm so happy to see you, Hermione," Lupin was saying happily, patting her on the back, and making way for Professor McGonagall to wring Hermione's hand with warmth, before shrugging and hugging her.

"I think," said Ron in a loud voice, cutting short a loud wailing from Hagrid, who barely fit in the kitchen as he picked Hermione right off her feet and wrapped one arm around her like he would a baby or a delicate flower he was afraid of crushing. "That it's time for a good party. Fred, George, do you think you could do the honours and conjure up a smashing cake? Or maybe you, Fleur, Hermione always liked French stuff – "

Harry rolled his eyes. He was surprised to find that he was almost enjoying himself. An hour later, he acknowledged wearily that news of Hermione's illness had gotten around. Far from putting a damper on her mood, she merely continued to drink one Butterbeer after another (to keep herself warm, Harry realized) and accepted offers and promises from people like Lupin, Tonks, Ginny and Professor McGonagall that they would search as many books as they could for anything on a sickness spell. Harry himself had a number of plans as to finding a cure. His first step, tomorrow morning, would be to pay a visit to Hogwarts and have a conversation with the portrait of Albus Dumbledore…

"I'd forgotten how loud parties are," Hermione's voice suddenly said beside him at some point. Harry turned and looked down at her. He was happy to see that although tired-looking, she seemed to be in far better spirits that one might have pessimistically expected.

Harry smiled. "You'd just forgotten how loud Fred and George are," he corrected, grinning.

"Thank you… for all this, I mean, Harry."

"I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did," she said quietly. "You came after me, and pulled me out of my cold bed in the moor. Had anyone else come to find me, they wouldn't have been able to bring me back here. You were the only one who had the power to convince me."

Harry felt an absurd urge to cry, and he blinked sharply. He looked down at her, and touched her cheek gently. He almost said it, but he checked himself in time. "I'm glad I found you."

"So am I," she admitted, a tiny smile playing along her mouth.

Harry suddenly wanted to kiss her, and was appalled by himself. No, no, _no_… surely his desire for her, in a not-so-sweet-and-cuddly sense, wasn't returning now? _Surely_ he wasn't going to start thinking about those nights and afternoons they had spent, about the laughter and the kissing, the tender touching and the passionate, raw moments…

Apparently, he was thinking about it.

Harry found a chair, groaning inwardly, and sat down.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione said, looking down at him.

He risked a glance up. Even when sick, even so thin, even with her bushy-ish hair and a pallor staining her cheeks, she was beautiful. _Harry Potter, it's inhuman to think of making love to a woman when she's so ill_!

He sighed. "It's just really hot in here."

…

…

…

It must have been about three o' clock in the afternoon, and the party had turned sleepier and more low-key, in a good way. Mrs. Weasley had dimmed the curtains so that the light was subtle and… more romantic. Music was playing on Harry's modern stereo (the twins couldn't get over such a device) – Muggle music, of course, as wizarding music didn't come on CDs. Several people were slowly dancing on the cleared carpeted floor of the TV room. Harry stood against the wall with an empty bottle of Butterbeer, watching Hermione and Ron dance not far away. Luna was watching, too, a benign, dreamy smile on her face. At one point, Ron grinned over at Luna, an intimate sort of gesture for Ron, and Harry felt a twinge of envy.

_And I'd give up forever to touch you,_

'_Cause I know that you feel me somehow…_

He straightened from the wall, and slowly walked towards Hermione and Ron. Tapping Ron on the shoulder, he winked and said: "May I cut in, Mr. Weasley?"

"Eh? I'm _Ron_, Harry, not my dad!"

Hermione giggled, but bit it back. Harry rolled his eyes and pushed Ron away. "Oh, go away, Ron, and dance with Luna. She looks a bit lonely." As Ron grinned and strolled off, glancing back at them with a pleased and mischievous look on his face, Harry turned to Hermione and raised his eyebrows. "So – erm – may I have this dance, then?"

"With pleasure," said Hermione with a faint smile, curtsying. She put her hands on his shoulders, and he laid his hands lightly on her waist. He still had no idea how to dance, but it seemed instinct to move with Hermione.

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be,_

_And I don't want to go home right now._

Harry noticed a lot of people surreptitiously watching them. Professor McGonagall and Hagrid, cutting a slow but wide path through the couples, were the only ones who seemed to feel it was wholly improper not to enjoy such a glorious moment and to stare at Harry and Hermione as if they were animals in a zoo. Harry knew that most of the people here, if not all, wanted nothing more than to see Harry and Hermione together again. He saw Ginny, with Terry, and didn't even feel a twinge of regret that he wasn't with her. He would always be fond of Ginny, because they were friends and she was Ron's sister, but he had never loved her. He saw Ron and Luna and wondered if Hermione felt any regret, whether she had loved Ron romantically. But at that moment, he actually couldn't bring himself to care. For the first time since he had lost her that night, he felt like there was a glimmer of light in his world once again.

So he did what he otherwise wouldn't and couldn't have done; he pulled Hermione tighter into his arms and held her close to him as they moved on the spot. Her hair brushed against his mouth, her head rested against his chest and neck, and he raised a hand and stroked her hair for a brief moment. Then he just held her.

_And all I can taste is this dream,_

_And all I can breathe is your light,_

_But sooner or later, it's over –_

_I just don't want to miss you tonight._

Hermione lifted her head and looked up at him, as if she could feel the words, the meaning in them, as deeply as he could. They were the only two of their immediate circle who truly appreciated the life of Muggles, and the very first night they had spent together, this song, "Iris", had been playing on the Muggle radio. Harry had nicknamed her Iris playfully that night. It had been their song ever since.

It seemed surreal that they were now dancing to it. But it also seemed right.

_And I don't want the world to see me,_

'_Cause I don't think that they'd understand;_

_When everything's made to be broken,_

_I just want you to know who I am._

He wanted nothing more than to be alone with her, to try once again to make her understand, to make her love him again. He could do it now, let the words pour out of him, but he didn't want everyone here to see his heart laid open, to see it break. It was only with Hermione that he had ever trusted opening his heart.

So he couldn't speak now. Maybe it was just the power of the song.

Harry knew he had made an unforgivable mistake, and done the unthinkable to her. As she had done to him. They had bared their hearts and their souls to each other, every dark and bleak corner of them. But when the moment of truth had arrived, they had made the mistake of doubting each other. He wondered if they could ever go back, whether they would each always be lost in the dark mists of their own demons. He, with the ghosts of his parents, the memory of fighting their Inferi corpses, with the ghost of his guilt and his feelings for her. And she with the phantom of her past and everything she had done and lost, and the slow, gnawing knowledge that if the right answer didn't come along, she would be dead in a few months…

Strange, how each other's demons was their own. How their own demons were only half as horrible as living those of the one you loved. Maybe, just maybe, they weren't so far away from each other in the darkness after all.

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming_

_Or the moment of truth in your eyes…_

_But sooner or later, it's over…_

The song ended, the party ended, and quiet descended over the house once more. With promises that they would see them tomorrow and that Hermione should get some rest, everyone disappeared with the exception of Ginny, who forced Harry's permission to spend the night. Kissing Terry goodbye just for the night, she launched herself into mischief-business-like mode and told Harry to take Hermione upstairs so that she could get some sleep, while she, Ron and Luna cleaned up the last of the mess downstairs.

Never mind the fact that there was barely any mess, as Mrs. Weasley's wand had taken care of everything before she had left, leaving a hot (permanently) apple pie behind for them to enjoy when the mood took them.

Harry almost carried Hermione up the stairs, she was so exhausted. They entered her room, and he shut the door behind them, hoping to be able to say something that might make a difference before he left. But as Hermione took off her jacket and pulled back the covers of her bed, she spoke quickly before he could get a word in first:

"This can't go on, Harry."

He looked at her. "What can't go on?"

"You… and me… in the same house, haunted by our pasts."

"We don't have a choice."

"I could return to the moor, maybe go back to my old house in London, anything."

"You should stay here," he said as calmly as he could, fighting the panic at the thought of losing her again, even if it was just to a different house. "There's no way you're going back to the moor. Maybe your old house in London could be warm and habitable, and I know Mrs. Weasley would love to have you at the Burrow, but you're safer here."

"From what?"

"Dolohov," said Harry flatly.

Hermione stared at him incredulously. "He's not going to come back!"

"You don't think so? Now that you're weak, you don't think he might come back to finish you off, knowing your reflexes and magic won't be as powerful if you try to fight him off? You don't think he may do worse if he finds you unprotected?"

"Harry, don't – "

"I would die before I let anything ever happen to you again," he said fiercely. "I don't care how you feel about me, but I won't lose you to him or to his spell. I'll keep you safe if I have to chain you up myself."

"But – "

"There's no room for argument here, Hermione."

She looked at him for a long moment, and then she finally said a little wearily: "I see the sense in what you're saying. Besides… I've missed being with you and Ron. I think I would probably be happier here, even if it's so much harder… Look, Harry, we can't go back. Please. You have to understand that. It would be inviting nothing but more pain, for you as well as for me. Please don't push me."

"You're tired," he said gently, ignoring the hurt inside, "You need some sleep. And I would never push you. I suppose I have no right to ask you for anything anyway. But I just need you to know that if I could go back, I would."

"Buy a Time-Turner then," she said, cracking a smile.

He smiled back. "I'm not that sneaky. Sleep well, Hermione. I'll wake you for dinner."

"Good ni… evening, Harry."

He kissed her on the forehead and walked out of the room. As he closed the door behind him, he caught a glimpse of her crawling into bed and burying her face in the pillow. He had a strong feeling that she had started crying, and although he wanted nothing more than to go back and hold her, he knew that it would make things more difficult for her, and that it would hurt her to know that he was seeing her in her pain, knowing how it hurt him.

_I just don't want to miss you tonight…_

"I just want you to know who I am," he whispered softly. He knew she couldn't hear him.

But he hadn't. He had forgotten who she was that night. She'd forgotten him. And now, three and a half years later, they were just two lost souls looking to find themselves once more, and in doing so… maybe find each other.

…

TBC.


	6. Hogwarts Dreams

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize, unless it's an original from one of my other stories, does not belong to me.

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Six: Hogwarts Dreams**

"…And so," concluded Professor Snape in his cold voice, surveying the small class of third-year Gryffindors as if he wished them nothing but the direst ill, "To sum up: it is therefore quite plain that the only way to repel a Boggart is to summon sufficient willpower to transform your greatest fear into something you find inconceivably funny, force laughter upon the creature, and to hence destroy it. Have I made myself clear?"

The Gryffindor students were staring at each other dubiously, as if they found it very hard to believe that their forbidding Defence Against the Dark Arts master was even capable of laughter. Hermione, standing half-concealed in the shadows at the back of the classroom, waiting for the lesson to end, thought she saw several grins and smirks drifting around the young faces. She found herself remembering exactly how she had felt as a thirteen-year-old, having practically the same lesson, only with a different teacher entirely. She looked at the fresh, curious faces in front of her and felt a twinge of sadness: the worst was yet to come. They would lose that innocence yet… or maybe they wouldn't. Thanks to Harry, and to the rest of them, perhaps children would be allowed to remain children this time around.

"Now take down notes until the bell rings," Snape went on to tell his students coldly. His black eyes flitted briefly to the back of the classroom, and Hermione wondered what he was probably thinking, seeing her here.

"Excuse me, sir?" said a young girl in the front row with a bossy sort of voice. She had two boys sitting on either side of her, one black-haired, and the other with unruly hair the colour of carrots.

Hermione had to blink and look twice to make sure it wasn't a delusion from her fevered mind that she was seeing. She had been back in London for a week now, and was getting slightly better with regular square meals and sleep and some laughter… but there was only so much natural improvement possible with something as deadly as the sickness spell. She was already feeling rather weak after the Side-Along Apparition with Harry and wandering through the familiar halls to find Snape's class. The emotional toll it had taken on her was worse.

"What now, Miss Posen?" asked Snape in a coldly weary voice.

"Well, sir, it's just that I think there's someone at the back of the classroom who would like to have a word with you…"

Hermione could have sworn she saw a gleam of only half-mocking amusement spring into Snape's eyes briefly. "I'm aware of that, thank you, Miss Posen. The young lady at the back, you might be interested to know, is as much of an insufferable know-it-all as you are."

Said without malice, this sentence did not reduce the girl to tears as it had Hermione. Struck by the unfamiliar note of familiarity in Snape's voice, the entire class turned their heads to look back at her. She felt a little embarrassed under their close scrutiny, specially unsettled by the three pairs of eyes from the front row, who reminded her just a little too much of herself, Harry and Ron at that age. However, she was distracted from these nostalgic thoughts by an exclamation from the boy in the back row:

"Hey! Your face is familiar… you've been in the Prophet, haven't you?"

Interest deepened in the faces.

"Wow! Aren't you Hermione Granger?"

"You were a Gryffindor like us, weren't you? So was Harry Potter!"

"You're Harry Potter's best friend?"

"No, dimwit, she's his wife – "

"No, she _isn't_ – they're best friends, aren't you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was speechless. Who would have thought these young faces would remember pictures they had seen in the Daily Prophet years and years before? Then she smiled ruefully. Of course they would. They or their families would have cut out and preserved any articles or photographs of Harry they could find. And many of those pictures featured her as well, not to mention a few of her on her own. Her disappearance, too, must have been reported – and now, possibly, her reappearance. She was a little shaken by the young boy who was convinced she was Harry's wife.

"Is it true Harry Potter can do the Wronski Feint better than Viktor Krum ever could, Miss Granger?"

This last question made her smile; she looked into the hazel eyes of the black-haired boy in the front row, and asked: "Hmm… Seeker for the Gryffindor team, are you?"

"How did you know?" his jaw had dropped.

She smiled. "Magic."

They laughed. Snape silenced the friendly banter with a few cold words and then, as the bell rang at that moment, dismissed the class. They left, chattering happily, many still staring avidly at Hermione as if they would have liked nothing more than to speak to her but didn't dare with Snape looming behind them like an overgrown bat. Once the class emptied, Hermione found herself standing face to face with Snape and feeling weaker and more ill than ever.

It must have shown, because he said coolly: "Perhaps you'd better sit down, Miss Granger."

"I'm fine, thank you, Professor Snape," Hermione said with a half-smile, straightening her back. However she might now feel about him, she had not forgotten his nasty treatment of Harry all their school lives and this was a question of pride.

"I see you've returned," he said coolly, "I'm surprised. I underestimated your courage."

"You must have expected me to come back, seeing as you provided Harry with the information to find me out on the moor, Professor."

Snape's mouth twisted slightly. "I gave Potter what I could. The rest was up to him. It seems I also underestimated his powers of persuasion. I also observe that you came in time to watch most of my lesson. Did you feel a sense of _déjà vu_, I wonder? You have not lost your talent of disrupting peaceful lessons."

Hermione smiled. "You still can't stand us Gryffindors, can you?"

"Let's put it this way," said Snape, "I think of Gryffindors as I think of rats: they rarely – please note, I said 'rarely' – serve any purpose to the world, and they are a constant annoyance that occasionally carries something more deadly within."

"Admirably put, sir," said Hermione, trying very hard not to laugh. "I'll keep this short, as I suspect you may have another class: I came here to thank you for finding me. I – well – I never expected you to do anything of the sort, and I suppose I appreciate what you did even more, because it was – um – well, actually, very out of character of you. As far as I knew." She shrugged a little. "I may have a chance now, so I want to thank you for that… that Harry found me means a great deal to me."

Snape looked at her with cold, fathomless black eyes for a long moment. She felt none of the old malice and irritation emanating from him, but she didn't feel warmth either. She felt a moment's pity for Snape, so alone and friendless in the world. Dumbledore had been the only man alive to truly trust him, to truly care about him.

Finally, Snape spoke:

"You know, Miss Granger," he said in his cool, emotionless voice, "In my entire life, I can easily count the number of people who have given me a second chance on one hand. In my entire life, only four people have made the effort to save my life, and succeeded. The first was, of course, James Potter – damn him. The second was Dumbledore. The third, yourself… and the fourth was Potter Jr., Harry, which might never have happened if you had not convinced him of my true loyalties in time. I will probably never like you because we have spent far too much time at loggerheads and despising each other, but I will always admire you because you have always shown an intelligence and strength beyond what anyone has expected of you.

"_You _probed deeper after Dumbledore's death, to find the true answer, for you couldn't believe he was wrong in truly trusting me. _You_ discovered the true reason I killed him: simply because he wanted me to. When he pleaded with me, as Potter no doubt told you of, it was a plea for me to kill him and not to withdraw. I hated him then, for making me do that. _You_ discovered why Dumbledore and I made that plot, why it had to be done, because by killing Dumbledore, I won the Dark Lord's ultimate confidence. He trusted me so completely then that he told me something he would never had revealed to anyone otherwise: he told me how he planned to destroy Harry Potter. Dumbledore's plan worked, as he had always known he would. That information might just have saved Potter's life. Of course, he finished the battle and defeated the Dark Lord on his own, but he might have been dead before that… had I not killed Dumbledore. Yes, Miss Granger, you saw the complexities and the way it worked. Because of you, the reputation and life I had sacrificed has been restored to me."

"It was the right thing to do," Hermione stammered, a little shaken by this cold, precise speech that nonetheless smacked of emotion buried deep within. "I realized you had done the right thing, that Dumbledore had wanted you to kill him – he was old, he never feared death, it was the "next great adventure" to him. I had to convince Harry and the others of your innocence."

"And for that," said Snape, "Perhaps more than any other reason, I believed that you deserved the same chance: a chance to regain the reputation and life you sacrificed three and a half years ago. Don't waste that chance in fear."

Hermione was silent, speechless. "I don't have much of a choice," she finally said a little bitterly. "Your case was very different, sir."

"I'm aware of the sickness spell, Miss Granger." Snape tilted his head. "A pity, to lose such a fine brain. A Gryffindor brain, but a fine brain nonetheless. I know much about the habits of Antonin Dolohov; I was once his communication partner during the time of the Dark Lord's reign. The spell he used must have been procured from Fenrir Greyback, who makes it a hobby to collect cruel and dangerous dark spells. It would be wise to consult Remus Lupin instead of a pile of books – an awful thought for you, Miss Granger, but important nonetheless."

"But Professor Lupin wouldn't go near Greyback if his life depended on it!"

"An unusually wise decision for Lupin to make," said Snape, sneering slightly, "Considering the filthy creature's reputation. What I meant was that Lupin, with his network of werewolves, will be able to find you a trail straight to Greyback and possibly to Dolohov. One or both will give you the answer or the antidote. I trust Potter will be willing to do a little persuasion of his own to get it out of them… Lupin probably wouldn't be averse, either…"

Hermione stared at Severus Snape for a long time, and wondered whether she was dreaming. But she understood why Snape was putting himself out for her, and by extension, for Harry as well. She understood that he despised Gryffindors, and he particularly disliked the two of them. As with James, to be in their debt was unbearable to him. He had to repay it somehow. This was his way, and to Hermione, it was more than enough. As far as she was concerned, Snape owed her nothing if this information proved fruitful. The fact that he was willing to help was startling enough…

And maybe, she thought with a faint smile, just maybe… there was a little nobility inside Severus Snape as well.

"Pathetic, Miss Granger," remarked Snape coolly, raising his eyebrows, "You begin to show the alarming tendency Dumbledore had of always believing the best in people. And equally pathetic is your clear inability to master Occlumency."

…

…

…

Hermione saw him walking some way ahead of her down the corridor, probably looking for her so that they could walk out of the grounds and Disapparate home. Unable to hurry and catch up with him, her muscles so exhausted she could barely walk, she merely cleared her throat and called out loudly:

"Harry!"

He turned, and jogged quickly back towards her. "There you are," he said, looking disgustingly vital and almost healthy, apart from the weary lines at the corners of his eyes and the shadows in his eyes. "I was half-convinced Snape had kidnapped you and tried to get you to plot some nasty little deed with him in the dark cloak of his dungeon, before he dragged you off and tried to relieve his lust for you, of course…"

"Oh, ha, ha," said Hermione, making a face at him and wondering inside whether it was the school and being back here that made them feel almost comfortable with each other again. "How you can say that, I don't know, when you know perfectly well the only woman Snape has ever cared about and probably ever will care about was your mother!"

Harry grimaced. "_Touché_," he muttered. "Can't get over that one. So, how'd it go?"

"He was as nasty as ever, but oddly touching somehow."

"Please. This is Snape. I'll bet he did a lot of touching, all right."

"Harry, stop being so silly," Hermione said, trying not to laugh at his sarcastic tone, noticing the grin flickering across his mouth. "Tell me what happened in McGonagall's office. Did you manage to speak to Dumbledore's painting?"

"Yeah," said Harry, nodding and sobering, "In spite of the time he had spent searching his sources since last week, he couldn't find anything much on sickness spells. They're really rare. The most he could tell me was not to try to use any magic to try and fix it unless we know it'll work specifically for the spell, because that would kill you. He suggested inquiring of the centaurs, because they've been around ages and would probably know of something as old as the sickness spell. Oh, and he suggested I ask Snape." He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, if I hadn't known Dumbledore cherished a secret passion for McGonagall, I would have thought the two of them were going to get married sometime…"

"Very funny," said Hermione, snorting. "Harry, Snape already spoke to me. He told me something that may actually give us huge results."

Harry stopped in his tracks. "What?" he said in disbelief.

Quickly, Hermione relayed everything Snape had told her.

"Wow," muttered Harry, sounding impressed.

Any feelings Harry might have had about Snape as a person were put aside for the time being (but only the time being). As far as Harry was concerned, any lead that might save Hermione's life was worth checking at least four times, and if Snape was the man who provided it, who cared? (Well, all right, he cared a little but at least he wouldn't have to worry about being in Snape's debt. This was Snape's own debt to him repaid!)

"That – that means," Hermione said slowly, stopping and looking into Harry's green eyes because for the first time it truly struck her; "That means I might have a chance."

Harry's expression softened, and he squeezed her hand. "You have more than a chance, Hermione. I'll make sure of that. As soon as we get back home, I'm going to visit Lupin and we'll come up with a strategy together, all of us. Greyback and Dolohov won't know what hit them. This'll give us all a chance to settle some old scores, and wipe out two of the last Death Eaters left."

Hermione swallowed slightly at the feeling in his voice. "You don't have to do this for me, Harry," she said softly.

"I know," he replied quietly, "But I want to. Besides, I do have to do it in a way – for me. I'm not doing this out of guilt for you, Hermione, if that makes you feel any better. I'm doing this for me too. My life means absolutely nothing without you."

He turned around and began walking down the corridor. Hermione stared after him for a very long moment, watching him walk slowly but fluidly, his wand sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans, a habit he had never gotten out of. She knew that they had no future, because they would never truly trust one another again, and their betrayals of each other, the kisses of traitors, lay far too heavily over their heads. But she knew, with absolute clarity, that life was not made out of futures, but of the present. They had today, even if there was nothing else.

"Harry!" she called, hurrying after him in spite of the weariness in her muscles. "Wait, don't leave the castle."

He stopped and turned back, grabbing her arm so that she didn't fall over. She was filled with a sudden, strange energy that she knew would only drain her terribly eventually, but which, for now, begged to be used. Harry frowned at her. "But I thought you wanted to get back to London. You look like you could use some rest."

"I could," she said, not bothering to tell him that she would prefer it if he could at least try to pretend that she was fine; she knew that was stupid. "But, if you don't mind, I'd like to stay here a little while. See our old common room, visit the lake and the trees we used to sit under, go and see Hagrid at his cabin for a little while, maybe… I just… I just want to be young again, Harry, young the way we used to be. Happy the way we used to be. I just want to remember Hogwarts as the sanctuary it was, and the home it became to all of us. I just want to be here with you again, and try to remember the dreams we once dreamt here, within these walls."

Harry squeezed her arm, and then let it go, holding only her hand. "I'd like that too," he said, and his voice was a little hoarse. "We can go back to McGonagall's office and get the Gryffindor House password from her. Or we can ask Lisa Turpin if we see her. She's Head Girl now, and she'll remember us."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said softly, squeezing his hand.

He smiled, and Hermione realized that he looked just a little happier than she had seen him in a very long time. It nearly broke her heart.

They duly got the password and entered Gryffindor Tower and the common-room, red-and-gold in theme colour and so warmly inviting that Hermione had to restrain herself from sitting down at one of the desks near the fire, her old homework spot. A few Gryffindors enjoying a free period inside looked at them curiously, and then with excitement as they recognized Harry and hence Hermione. Very embarrassedly, Harry signed three autographs for burly seventeen-year-olds who were his height and size, and they left the common room, Hermione giggling almost light-heartedly.

"Oh, come on, Harry, you must be used to this by now!" she said.

He shook his head, smiling vaguely. "I don't get out much, so people don't have many chances to ask for autographs. You'd think the novelty would have worn off."

"Gratitude doesn't wear off so easily," Hermione told him earnestly.

"Hermione, that last guy was taller than I was! Do you have any idea how weird that is?"

"Viktor used to say the same thing to me," reflected Hermione with a smile, "Only he, of course, didn't have the widespread awe and gratitude you have. He was just a Quidditch star. I must write a letter to him. He wrote so often while I was on the moor, I think he was worried about me."

Harry glanced at her as they made their way out into the sunlit grounds. Hermione realized that it must have been a long time since Harry had come to their old spots; they must have held too much pain for him. She felt a surge of affection and compassion for him, and squeezed his hand tighter. She also realized that for the first time in a very long time, she wasn't cold. As she looked back at him, they footsteps echoing softly in time across the grass, she realized there was a tiny spark of humour in his eyes.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"Did you use Krum to make Ron jealous?"

Hermione gasped. "Of course not! I genuinely liked Viktor, he was terribly nice, you know, even if he never could get my name right."

"Herm-own-ninny," Harry reminisced, grinning, "I nearly popped a rib trying not to laugh out loud first time I heard that at the Yule Ball. I mean, of all things to pick up for you… _ninny_. I remember thinking about it quite a bit during our fifth year, about what you probably saw in Krum, and I don't think I liked it much, only I was hung-up on Cho and didn't bother to consider the significance of what I was thinking."

"I remember being irrationally pleased when Cho got angry with you over Marietta, because you defended me in spite of your feelings for her."

"Ah, well. They were both idiots. You weren't. It wasn't a hard choice at the end."

"Ginny was never an idiot," Hermione said quietly, smiling a little.

Harry looked at her, the sparkling water of the wide lake looming in front of them. "I was never in love with Ginny. Call that a boy's monster crush, if you want. She was pretty and popular, if you remember. I think all of us – except Ron, of course – had a thing for her at some point. But I also seem to recall being more concerned about saying goodbye to you, and not to her, when I left for the cave with Dumbledore that night."

"What really made you give her up so easily, Harry?" Hermione asked, leaning against the trunk of one of their old trees, as they stood below it with the stretching lake before them, and looking over at him.

"I think it was the fact that when I told her I had to do something dangerous, she didn't tell me to be careful. At the time, I was relieved she didn't. But I think, somewhere deeper inside, I always felt happier and better somehow hearing the person who always _did_ tell me to be careful."

Hermione felt tears creeping into her eyes, and blinked them away. "We've had some good times, here, haven't we?"

"Yeah," said Harry, standing beside her and following her gaze across the water. "We have."

They stood beside the lake for nearly half an hour, talking about the many memories each of them had of Hogwarts, the good and the bad, the funny and the heart breaking. They talked about their dreams and how they had changed from each passing year, how Hermione had considered a job with Gringotts, and how Harry had wanted to be an Auror for the Ministry… and how other things had become more important to both of them… friendship, unity, loyalty… and each other. Now, they treasured different things from the material, child-like fantasies they'd once had. Harry treasured his magic, for it had protected and guided him through the darkest of times. And Hermione held close to her heart her independence and dignity, for both were her only defences against the cruelties and prejudices of the world.

Fear had drawn them both from each other; Harry, afraid to hurt her again and, by letting her in, letting the self-preservation he so valued fall apart. And Hermione, terrified of loving him once more, of trusting him once more and depending irrevocably on him. Neither would survive a second beating. Neither knew if they could overcome their fear enough to risk themselves once more, to make that ultimate sacrifice.

Again.

These words went unspoken, but they remained a shadow stalking them as they left the lake and strolled together to Hagrid's cabin. Harry was laughing at Hermione's description of her reaction to the Exceeds Expectations she had gotten in her Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL.

"It was the one subject you always beat me in, Harry," she said with a rueful smile, but she never had nor would she ever feel resentful of him because of that. Harry had always had the right, somehow, to be better than everyone at that one subject. He deserved it. And he was the only one for whom she would not compete against, because she did not want to be better than him. She had always been happy being his equal.

"Except when I started beating you at Potions," he grinned.

"That was _cheating_!" Hermione said aggressively, gripping his arm a little harder as her energy began to expend itself. "I was only ever resentful of your being better than me because you didn't do that on your own!"

"Fair enough," he said, clearly trying not to laugh at her heated reaction. She bit back a smile, and they both waved at a beaming Hagrid, who emerged from his cabin with a somehow immortal Fang bounding along behind him, both (if Hermione's eyes were not very much in error) looking positively leaky-eyed at the sight of Harry and Hermione together before them.

Hagrid engulfed them both in a monstrous hug. Hermione thought she saw the hulking figure of Grawp lurking behind the cabin, and immediately shrank back towards Harry. She hadn't forgotten the fascination Grawp had had with her anatomy.

"Come and have rock cakes with me!" Hagrid said brightly, when he had let them both go. "Yer'll love them, it's a new recipe!"

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other. Neither said a word, but the rock cakes found a convenient spot somewhere in the corner of Hagrid's new pride and joy, a mud-pit of fang-toothed South African piglets.

"Yeah, they'll need those fang-teeth to bite those cakes," muttered Harry dryly.

Hermione stifled a giggle.

It must have been really three in the afternoon when Harry and Hermione finally took their leave of Hagrid and began making their way back to the school gates. They walked along, talking quite easily and almost happily about various things. But at the gates, both turned around simultaneously to look at the castle looming tall and beautiful behind them, and the expanse of the Forbidden Forest stretching beyond. Neither said a word, but Hermione felt a lump in her throat and sensed Harry felt the same way.

"If only we could be eleven again, walking into these gates for the first time," Hermione said softly, wishing for what must have been the thousandth time in a week, wishing futilely but desperately that it was possible to go back… to live again.

Harry turned away from the castle and his voice was quiet. "We can never be eleven again. But we can be happy again, you know."

"Perhaps," said Hermione softly, "One day."

Harry wrapped one arm around her waist, as if he couldn't bear to hear her saying those things any longer, and Hermione concentrated on the street outside Number 12, Grimmauld Place. There was a _crack_, and they reappeared outside Harry's house a moment later, Hermione gasping for breath and Harry holding her up against him while she regained her breath.

She straightened at last, tired and worn out, and looked up into Harry's green eyes. The past day seemed suddenly like a surreal blur of a time long lost. The spell Hogwarts had cast over them both was broken. The dream had ended.

Together, they turned towards the dark door of the house and walked towards it in silence.

…

…

TBC.


	7. Dark Promise

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize, unless it's an original from one of my other stories, does not belong to me.

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Seven: Dark Promise**

Harry gritted his teeth and marched through the dark cave, his wand held aloft with its tip casting light around them. Behind him, Lupin walked along, his step just a little more hesitant than Harry's. It was dawn, but the cave was dark, and somewhere deep inside, a werewolf was sleeping.

It hadn't taken Lupin long to track down Fenrir Greyback. Within three days of Harry and Hermione returning to Number 12 with the information Snape had provided them with, Lupin had set out back into the underground network he had uncovered several years before, to discover where the fearsome werewolf was now. His feverish determination had been almost frightening – fuelled by his desire to help Hermione as well as by his need to somehow find justice for himself and for all the other small children who might be condemned to the fate he had been. Having located the cave somewhere in Ireland, Harry and Lupin had set out obtaining a Portkey from the Ministry and leaving as soon as they could.

For a moment, Harry felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn't told Hermione before leaving. She would be furious, and worried, knowing they were out here with a savage maniac of a werewolf and possibly his companions. But quickly, that feeling was overborne by his powerful determination and anger. He would make them pay. He had never been less afraid of anything in his life; the only fear inside him was that they might not succeed.

"Harry," Lupin said quietly, drawing Harry's attention to himself. "The cave forks off here into narrow tunnels. I think they told me to take the left one. Perhaps I should go ahead."

Lupin's face was pale and drawn; Harry could well imagine the toll this must be taking on him. He shook his head, and managed a reassuring smile. "Don't worry," he said, having never managed to get his tongue around the name 'Remus', "I've faced worse evil than Greyback. I don't mind going ahead. I'll just trust you to watch my back."

Lupin smiled, and looked both relieved as well as grateful as he followed Harry down the left tunnel.

How long they walked, Harry would never know. It seemed like hours, but it couldn't have been more than two or three. They were walking deep into the hillside and the darkness, and the cold was beginning to creep around them and sink right through the layers Harry was wearing. But he didn't care. He was just waiting for the end of the tunnel… and Greyback.

When they finally entered a large, dimly lit cavern with a pool of water in the middle, they caught sight of the werewolf immediately. He was alone. Harry motioned to Lupin to be quiet; Greyback appeared to have just woken up, he was yawning and stretching. Lupin shook his head frantically at Harry, but Harry disregarded this and walked forwards softly over the stone floor towards Greyback. He was about ten feet away, his wand out and ready to aim a painful hex, when the grinning, spitting, horrible voice split the silence:

"Did you think I couldn't smell you the minute you entered?" Greyback whipped around, teeth bared, and Harry saw a wand flash out of his coat pocket. "CRU – "

"_Protego_!" cried a voice, and the Unforgivable Curse was deflected before Greyback could utter the word completely, Harry having dodged out of the way as Lupin pointed his wand at Greyback. There was a steely light in Lupin's eyes and his face was pale, bit his arm was perfectly steady. Greyback, his nose bleeding from the power of the Shield Charm, grinned toothily.

He snickered. "Well, well, if it isn't Remus Lupin. You were one of my first, Lupin, you know that? Come for seconds, did you?"

"One movement," said Lupin quietly, barely moving his mouth, "And you will be sorry. Understand?"

Greyback's eyes darted from Harry to Lupin, neither of whom lowered their wands. He must have realized that he was seriously outnumbered and that attempting to duel or attack two angry and powerful wizards was the height of foolishness. Harry was almost disappointed. His real rage was reserved for Dolohov, but he had hoped Greyback might give him an excuse to hurt him.

"What do you want?" the werewolf finally snarled.

Lupin motioned to Harry, who stepped forward, and spoke in a quiet but deadly voice: "Still in contact with your old pal Dolohov?"

Comprehension dawned in Greyback's eyes, and he grinned, picking at his teeth. "So this is what this is all about? Potter and Lupin have come here playing knights to the damsel in distress! Tell me, how is the girl? Have the cold shivers and sharp pains started yet? Or is she still in the earlier stages of death?"

"_Sectumsempra!_" said Harry angrily, and with a cry of pain, blood spurted from Greyback's neck and chest. Harry was shocked at himself, but could not feel any pity for this monster.

He looked at Lupin. "Can you heal him?"

Lupin was staring at Greyback clutching his face on the floor, his expression one of revulsion as well as grim satisfaction. He said softly: "Maybe I could, but I won't. He should be healed if you want him to talk, Harry, but I won't be the one to do it."

Harry strained his memory for a healing spell, found it, and cast it. Greyback stumbled to his feet, repaired but drenched in his own blood. To their disgust, he stroked a finger along his cheek and licked it, licking off the blood with an almost ecstatic expression. Harry clenched his jaw, and stared coolly at Greyback.

"Let's get a few things straight," he snarled. "You watch your mouth, or you'll taste something far worse than your own blood next time. Answer our questions, and maybe you'll live."

Greyback grinned. "Want to save the girl, don't you?"

"Tell me how."

"The sickness spell is no ordinary spell, little Potter. This is the Slow-Death Spell. Once cast, it cannot be revoked by any normal means. Once cast, it is virtually irresistible. The girl is on her deathbed, whether or not she walks or talks. Her life has merely been prolonged, but is in essence, cut off already. She has no life any longer."

Harry felt such a wave of despair and fear that he almost doubled over and threw up. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. No cure? No way of saving Hermione? Her life had already been cut off? Why didn't they just give him a death sentence?

"You're lying," he growled, steadying his shaking wand arm.

Greyback grinned, seeming to be thoroughly enjoying the effect he had produced. "Oh, lying, am I? Why don't you go try your magical spells on her then? See what happens!"

"He isn't lying, Harry," Lupin said quietly from the other side of the pool of water.

"I won't let her die!"

"Nor will I," said Lupin with a faint smile. "There's a loophole, Greyback, there always is. Tell me what it is."

Harry turned sharply towards Greyback, waiting almost breathless.

"How do you know there's a loophole?" asked Greyback with a snicker. "They mightn't be."

"_SECTUM_ – "

"_Protego_," said Lupin, quietly deflecting Harry's spell. "Don't lose your temper, Harry, that's what he enjoys. Spit it out, Greyback, or Harry won't be the only one aiming terrible curses at you. Do you want to rot here the rest of your life, nothing more than a few limbs packaged into a box and given a sip of unicorn blood? Because we'll do it, believe me. I know where to find unicorns already dead. Do you want to be little more than a mass of misshapen pulp, because we can do that too… Pick your fate, Greyback… but choose wisely, and quickly, would you? We don't have all day to waste on you."

Harry could only admire Lupin's calm in the face of his nightmare, but at the same time, he wanted to push Lupin out of the way and curse Greyback with everything he had. He had given Dolohov the spell! He had caused this… Dolohov would pay, but Greyback had to pay too…

"All right," snarled the werewolf. "I'll tell you… but you won't like it."

"What do you mean – we won't like it?"

"Just what I said! What're you, thick? You won't like it, because it involves something far more dangerous than any normal antidote or cure. This one will be permanent – it can never stop. If the 'antidote', persay, _stops_, she'll die because she has no life of her own, remember? So I really don't think you're going to like what I'm about to tell you."

"We'll decide that," said Lupin quietly. "Get on with it, or I'll have to persuade you a little."

"Keep your pants on… I'm just saying it's dangerous and unpleasant. It might take a while to explain, though… I'm a bit hazy on the details." Greyback grinned nastily.

Harry stared at him, swallowing his anger and fear. "Will it save her life?" he demanded.

"Well, that's the interesting part, innit?" grinned Greyback, licking more blood; "Once it's set up, _she's_ the only one who can decide whether to live or not…"

…

…

-FLASHBACK-

"_Hermione, where've you been?" Harry demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking at her, so relieved that she was back that he could barely speak. "We thought something must have happened to you – you left the castle without telling anybody – "_

"_Sorry," she said softly, "I – I had something to do."_

"_Something to do? Look, you can't put yourself in danger like that! If something had happened, we wouldn't have known where to find you. Do you think I could stand it if anything happened to you?" He looked at her, the instinctive anger one feels in such situations fading. He could feel his features and voice softening. "Sorry – I didn't mean to shout. I just worry about you… and the last thing I want is to see you hurt."_

_Hermione put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He held her to him, slightly bewildered but also glad, because he had been dying to hold her all evening and he'd been so worried when Ginny had told him she couldn't find her. He sensed she needed comfort._

"_Is something wrong?" he asked quietly._

_She looked up at him. "No," she said softly, but he thought he could see the hint of a lie in her voice. "But something _is_ up, Harry. It's very important."_

"_What d'you mean?"_

_She was pale and her eyes oddly bright, but her face was set. Harry could sense something powerful within her, but he couldn't place it._

"_Harry, listen to me," she said, holding his hand and squeezing. "We need to go to the Forest."_

"_What? Why?"_

"_Because I know where the last Horcrux is, Harry! The sixth piece of Voldemort's soul! We can destroy it now, and then you'll have just him to fight… come on, Harry, come with me and I'll take you to it!" Hermione was pulling him along the corridor, towards the doors. They met nobody along the way; Harry briefly wondered where Luna and Ron where and why they weren't on guard here._

_He was stunned. He couldn't believe it. "But – " he said, staring at her in wonder. "How did you find the Horcrux? What is it? Why is in the Forest? How did you know –?"_

"_Not now, Harry," Hermione groaned, pulling him out of the castle. "We have to get there."_

_Harry stopped, making her stop with him. "Hermione, answer the questions. I need to know what to be prepared for – not like the locket – "_

_She looked up at him, and there were tears in her eyes. He bent his head and kissed one of her eyelids, smoothing the tear away. He never could bear it when she looked at him like that, as if her heart was breaking. She smiled weakly at him, and touched his face with one cold hand. "Harry," she said softly. "Do you trust me?"_

"_I – "_

_She reached up and kissed him on the mouth, a soft, warm kiss that numbed his very senses. When she broke away, he stammered: "Of course I trust you."_

"_Good," she said softly, but she didn't sound like it was such a good thing after all. "Then come with me now, and please don't ask any more questions, you'll see for yourself when we get there. Hurry, Harry! Come on – quickly!"_

_They ran out through the cold night air, which was oddly silent in spite of the fact that members of the Order and the DA ought to have been roaming about this region as part of the castle guard. But Harry assumed Hermione must have told them to check something else, so that no one would ask questions when they were seen running towards the Forest. He followed her blindly, aware of the cold but needing only her hand in his to make him feel better. He could sense, somewhere in his gut, that something was very wrong… but it was a vague feeling and he ignored it. He knew nothing could really go wrong with Hermione here. He knew that she would never allow anything to happen to him._

_They entered the cold, dark of the Forest and began making their way over the bracken and leaves on the forest floor, moving in deeper to unfamiliar parts Harry had never seen before._

"_How did you even get here in the first place?" he demanded, but she shushed him softly._

_They had come to a halt. Harry looked around. The mist was swimming gently through the trees, looming like dark sentinels all around them. It was unnaturally quiet. Harry could sense the presence of some nameless evil somewhere close by, and he assumed it was the Horcrux. He remembered the way he had had to kill Nagini, and shuddered slightly. He hoped the last Horcrux was in no way alive._

"_Where is it, Hermione?" he asked, confused._

"_Oh, Harry," she said, and the tone of her voice made him look at her. It was controlled and cool, almost detached. Her eyes were still strangely bright. "You're such a fool sometimes."_

"_What?" he was startled. "What are you talking about?"_

"_Haven't you figured it out yet?"_

"_Figured _what_ out?"_

_And then a high, cold voice came from the darkness. "Be careful whom you trust, Potter."_

_Harry turned around slowly, feeling as if every bone in his body had just been frozen. Out of the shadows and darkness of two oak trees not far away from him, glided a hooded and cloaked figure with skin so pale it gleamed in the pale moonlight._

_Lord Voldemort was right in front of him._

…

…

Harry took a few steps away from Greyback, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and fresh despair as the werewolf's words rang in his ears. Greyback had just explained exactly how the one and only way to save Hermione's life had to be done, and Harry could not help feeling that he had been cheated in some way, that somewhere, someone was laughing…

He turned to Lupin, and said in a quiet, detached voice that didn't seem to come from himself: "I told him we wouldn't kill him if he talked, so don't. But do anything else you want to him before we go. I've had enough of him."

Turning away, Harry went to stand beside the pool of water, staring into the clear, bluish depths. A drop of Greyback's blood had fallen into the water, and it was slowly staining the entire thing the faintest tinge of red. Harry's mind and heart were too full and too heavy for him to care much about whatever else might be going on around him, but at the same time, he had no desire to watch Lupin torture Greyback. Strange… he had always thought Lupin far too moral and human to willingly torment another.

There was a sudden howl of pain and rage, which subsided into a furious, anguished groaning. Harry turned around, curious in spite of himself, to see what Lupin had done. Had he been in a better mood, he might have laughed out loud.

Lupin had cast a spell to remove Greyback's teeth and fingernails permanently. He was little more than an angry cat without claws.

"Nice work," Harry said, cracking a smile.

Lupin looked at Greyback with an expression of strange peace. "I underestimated how good it would feel to strip him of what he holds the dearest… and save countless lives in the process. He can't even say magical incantations properly because he has no teeth."

Harry nodded wordlessly.

Lupin looked at him, and his expression softened. "Oh, Harry… I can imagine how this must hurt."

"Can you?" muttered Harry a little bitterly.

Lupin smiled faintly. "I care very much about Hermione, Harry, you know that. And believe me, I know how I would feel if Tonks was in her position and I was in yours. I know I can't begin to feel what you must be feeling now. You've endured far too much in too little time, Harry. It can't go on much longer. Have faith that it'll end soon… you can't have come all this way for nothing, either of you. Justice doesn't work like that."

"Justice doesn't come to everyone. If that were true, Sirius would still be alive."

"You're right," said Lupin in his quiet voice. "But for some of us, it's still possible if we have enough faith in ourselves and in those we love. I won't presume to be as wise or as experienced as Dumbledore, Harry. But in forty years, you do learn a few things."

Harry cracked a smile. "I guess so. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. But you need to talk to Hermione. You have work things out."

"I won't let her die," Harry said numbly. "If I have to die first, I'll do it. But I'll save her, no matter what else happens."

Lupin smiled, clapped Harry reassuringly on the shoulder, and glanced back at the groaning Fenrir Greyback. "Let's get out of this place," he said. "We could Apparate straight back, but it would be a pity to waste such a visit to Ireland. Let's have something to eat at the nearest restaurant, and then go home. It's past dinnertime anyway."

"We've been here a long time," Harry commented.

"It took him a long time to explain things to us," Lupin replied. "If you ask me, I'd say he's almost as stupid as Gregory Goyle. If you'll remember, I taught him in your third year. _Quite_ the trial, if I may safely say so now."

In spite of himself, Harry couldn't quite repress a grin.

They turned their backs on the werewolf, and walked out of the cave.

…

…

…

It must have been ten o' clock in the night when Harry and Lupin returned to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. They entered the house to find Ron sitting in the kitchen with Luna fast asleep curled up on an armchair nearby. He appeared to be perusing Playboy again, but when they entered, he leapt up, looking relieved.

"You're back!" he said, rather unnecessarily. "What happened? Are you two all right? Did you find Greyback? Hermione said she assumed that was where you two disappeared off to."

"If there's one thing I've learnt in all the years I've known you," said Lupin conversationally, "It's that Hermione is always right. I have never known her to be truly wrong about anything – except perhaps about Quidditch."

Ron grinned. "Do you want me to call Tonks over? I can send my Patronus through the fire if you like."

"That would actually be wonderful, Ron. She did ask me to call as soon as we returned."

"Yeah, Hermione told me to make sure I told her when you got back as well – she wasn't very happy when she woke up this morning and Luna told her that she thought you and Harry had gone off to hunt the Saddleback Hunch Frog. She downed a Firewhisky pretty fast before remembering she has a strong policy against drink."

"Where is she?" asked Harry slowly.

Ron nodded upwards. "Asleep in her room. Well, probably not asleep because she's been going spare over you all day, Harry." He cocked his head and attempted to look severe, succeeding only in looking mildly doubtful. "You should have told her what you were upto! I managed to convince her to eat something and go to bed, though. She looked really tired." He looked eagerly at Lupin. "Do you want to stay once I get Tonks over and have something to eat and tell me all about what went on?"

"We just ate," said Lupin, smiling. "But I wouldn't mind a hot cocoa. I'll deal with getting Tonks here, don't worry. Luna looks like she might need to be taken up to bed. And, Harry, why don't you go upstairs and ease Hermione's mind? I can handle the story telling for the time being. Perhaps you should get some rest too."

"Okay," said Harry a little vaguely. "G'nite – and thanks again for today. I'll probably only see you in the morning, Ron."

"Sleep tight, mate."

Harry nodded, turning and leaving the kitchen. He went upstairs, his heart aching and beating a little faster as he approached Hermione's door. He had to talk to her. He had to make her realize some things, had to get her to understand. He needed her to love him. He needed her to trust him. He wondered whether, if she was awake, he ought to tell her what Greyback had said now. He didn't know whether he had the courage left in him to do it.

He reached the door, and raised a slightly shaky fist to knock quietly.

"Who is it?" Hermione's voice called wearily from inside. "If that's you again, Ron, go away."

"It's me," he said quietly. "Just wanted to let you know that we – erm – we're back. And I'm really sorry for not telling you before we left."

It felt hopelessly inadequate, but Harry didn't know what else to say.

There was silence from within the room. Harry almost turned the knob and went inside, assuming Hermione expected him to go in, but at the last moment, he turned around and walked quickly to his own room next door, shutting the door softly behind him and leaning against it in despair. He was a coward and a fool, but he couldn't face her now. She knew they were back – now perhaps, she could go to sleep. He just couldn't bear to face her now.

He lay awake in bed for a very long time after having a bath, exhausted but unable to sleep for a great deal of time. His mind was far too active and far too burdened with memories and worries for sleep to come to him easily. Eventually, however, he must have dozed off because at some point, he woke up.

For a moment, in the dim light of his room and the moonlight streaming in through a window, he had absolutely no idea what had woken him up. Then he turned his head and blinked his surprise. There was a figure sitting beside him on the edge of his bed, looking down at him. Her hair was touched by the moonlight, turning it silver, and she must have been watching him sleep. Harry stared back at her, spellbound and wondering if he was still sleeping and that this was a surreal dream. But he thought he could see sadness on her face, and knew it was no dream.

He also realized that he hadn't even tried to reach for his wand upon realizing there was someone in the room with him. Even though it had been ages since they had been in the same bedroom together like this, the old habits hadn't been forgotten.

"Hello," he said a little croakily.

He saw her smile faintly. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to wake you up. I just… wanted some company and didn't feel like being alone tonight."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes… I suppose. I was worried about you."

"I know – I'm sorry about that. I should have told you."

Hermione touched his mouth, silencing him. "Let's not talk about it. I don't want to know anything that happened there just yet. You can tell me tomorrow. I just want to be with you tonight, Harry. I've missed you so dreadfully and I just… I just feel so alone. I didn't want to miss you some more tonight."

"Well, I don't want you to go," he said hoarsely. He pushed back his quilts a little and moved over to the other side of his bed. "Do you want to go to sleep here? It's fairly warm and you must be feeling awfully cold?"

"Thank you," she said softly. She crawled into the bed beside him, and lay down, curling up into the pillow and quilts and staring up at the ceiling. He wrapped the quilts around both of them securely and watched her for a moment or two, wishing with all his heart that this could have been four years ago and that neither of them had hurt each other. There seemed to be a wall between them now, some kind of veil that separated them. He wanted nothing more than to be beyond the veil… to be on the other side of it with her.

They lay in silence for a long time, but Harry, lying on his side and watching the moonlight playing across her face, knew she wasn't asleep. Once or twice, she shivered slightly, and it was all he could do to keep from finding a spell to keep her warm.

"Harry?" she said softly, sounding lonely and afraid. "I'm so cold…"

He felt his heart hammer painfully against his ribs. How well he remembered the last time she had said that to him, in almost exactly the same way. How desperately he wished he took take it all back. Why had she brought it up now? Didn't she realize that by saying this to him, she dredged up all the old hurts?

But then, suddenly, he realized. She wasn't dredging things up. She was giving him a chance to do now what he hadn't done before… a chance, almost, at forgiveness.

"Will – will you hold me?" she asked softly, tentatively, as if afraid of being rejected.

Wordlessly, he moved closer to her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him so that there was no space between their bodies and so that she could share his body heat. She turned towards him, her face pressed against his shoulder, and he thought he heard a choked sob somewhere deep inside her chest. He tightened his arms around her and idly stroked her hair, willing her to sleep warm and comforted for once.

"I love you, Hermione," he said softly, before he realized he was saying it. "I always will, you know. Nothing could change that."

She didn't respond, but from the way she burrowed a little deeper into his chest, he knew she was still awake and that she had heard him. His heart hurting just a little more, he closed his eyes and tried to pretend that they were not twenty-one and twenty-two years old, that they were still the young teenagers who believed in each other absolutely.

And then, so quietly he thought he might have imagined it, he heard her voice, sad and miserable: "I love you too, Harry."

In a way, it was as if he suddenly understood the meaning of happiness again. She had never really stopped loving him, she had just been protecting herself. She did love him, just as he loved her, and that she was willing to tell him meant that maybe, just maybe, she was finally able to forgive him for what he had done. But in some ways, the despair in his heart only grew. Because he knew from the tone of her voice that love him she might, but she would never again trust him.

And if she couldn't trust him, he couldn't save her.

Harry closed his eyes again and let his head rest against the top of hers, trying hard to fight the tight obstruction in his chest. A tear, hot and salty, trailed out of his burning eyes and slipped into her hair. Everything changed, he thought, when you kissed a traitor.

…

…

TBC.


	8. Desperation

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize, unless it's an original from one of my other stories, does not belong to me.

**A/N: **I'm so, so sorry about how long this update has been! But you can totally blame the fact that my hard disk crashed… long, long story. Anyway, this is the third time I've written this chapter, and I kind of like it, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Sorry again!

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Eight: Desperation **

Breakfast was a rather awkward affair.

Never mind the fact that Hermione had woken in Harry's arms, feeling ill and drained but much warmer and rather happier than she had in a long time. Never mind that they had woken and been unsure of what to say to each other, after the whole unspoken "I love you but can't trust you and hence we can never be together" episode of the previous night. Never mind that they'd left the room together, Hermione to go and change, and Ron had seen them and started to grin before Harry had silenced him with a warning look. And never mind that they were all now sitting at the breakfast table and drinking orange juice with the meat pies and treacle tart Mrs. Weasley had sent over.

As Hermione had walked into her room to change, she had heard Ron turn to Harry and demand: "All right, what happened last night, Harry? What did you do?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry had answered brusquely but quietly.

There was a pause, and then Ron said in a strangely understanding voice: "All right, mate, I'll let it go. It's just that I really hoped – I mean, we all really hoped – that maybe you and Hermione could put everything behind you and be… you know… happy again."

Hermione wasn't quite sure, but could have sworn she heard Harry said softly: "So did I."

She had closed her room door quietly before the tears started to flow.

_Harry._

Yes, breakfast was certainly not simple. There were seven of them at the table: Ron, Luna, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Lupin, and Tonks. Fred and George, unfortunately, had declined Harry's Floo Powder invitation to join them due to "pressing business", and were thus unable to even break the tension. Hermione had never felt more like something was expected of her, and she simply couldn't look Harry in the eye.

Not only was it awkward, but it hurt too much. Spending the night in his arms had reminded her of the magical times they had together, and the happier years they had lived. She tried so hard not to think about how it had all crumbled, but it was impossible not to.

"So… um…" Ginny sounded uncharacteristically tentative as she cleared her throat. "Is anyone going to tell us what happened with Greyback yesterday?"

Hermione felt her entire body stiffen. She had deliberately not asked, deliberately tried not to think about that because she didn't think she could bear having her most fragile hopes crushed. She wanted to live. For the first time, she knew that with absolute clarity. Whatever might have happened, she loved these people and knew that they loved her. Hadn't they all lost enough? She wanted to live, wanted a family, wanted to get married… tears prickled her eyes. She would never get married.

She might not even live.

"Greyback?" Harry said, as if he had never heard the name before. Hermione could tell he had been caught off guard.

Ginny eyed him. "Yes, _Greyback_, Harry. You know… the werewolf? The one you went to meet yesterday? Honestly, did he do a Memory Charm on you or something? Because in case you haven't noticed, Hermione is one of my best friends and I'd like to know what could save her because I'll go and get it myself if I have to."

Hermione was touched by this, but couldn't help noticing the uneasiness crossing Harry and Lupin's faces. Her heart was sinking fast. They knew something that they didn't want to talk about.

She focused on her suddenly unappetizing meat pie for a moment, and then looked up in time to see Harry and Lupin exchange looks. Ron looked a bit awkward, which told her that he knew at least some of what had happened. Then, Harry looked down at his treacle tart again and Lupin cleared his throat: "Well, it was fairly eventful. I mean, we found him and I permanently deprived him of his teeth and claws."

"That was an excellent form of punishment," Hermione said, startled into speech, unable to repress a smile. "Professor Lupin, it was brilliant."

"That's what I told him," Tonks said brightly, "I would have killed him."

Nobody paid any heed to the latter part of this, because Tonks was simply being Tonks. However, Lupin smiled, thanked Hermione, and then went on to say: "He _did_ provide Dolohov with the spell. It's a very complicated and dangerous kind of spell, and to attempt anything magical without full knowledge would be deadly to Hermione. So…" Lupin hesitated, and then went on: "We're still researching the possible cure as fully as we can before we come to any kind of conclusion. I hope you don't mind being a little patient, Hermione."

"I'm fine with it," said Hermione calmly, trying to ignore a slight dizzy sensation and nausea. She exchanged a glance with Ginny and knew that Ginny, like her, knew that Lupin was lying. They knew what the cure or antidote was… or lack thereof. They just didn't want to tell her.

And Hermione was far too afraid of having her hope shot to dust to question Lupin further.

"_Well_," said Ginny with a huff, "Back to the books then, is it?"

Everyone smiled or laughed. "Hermione ought to enjoy that," Ron chuckled.

Hermione smiled back, but wasn't really listening.

She felt a reassuring hand on her trembling leg, and nearly leapt out of her chair in shock. It was Harry's hand; she would have known it even if he wasn't sitting right next to her. She was also mildly shocked at herself. Surely, to think about how Harry's hand felt on her leg was _not_ something to be thinking about right now. Maybe he felt something too, because he drew his hand away after squeezing gently in reassurance. Hermione forced herself not to think of it, and her thoughts went straight to a certain evening that felt like so very long ago………

-FLASHBACK-

_Hermione was returning to their rooms from the library. She, Harry and Ron were staying at Hogwarts for a few days, working on things with Dumbledore's portrait and office to find the last Horcrux. As she came around the corner, she saw one of her least favourite people (in the purely business sense) walking towards her with a sherry bottle in one hand. _

"_You!" Sybill Trelawney groaned in a harsh voice, and grabbed Hermione around the wrist so tight that Hermione almost pulled out her wand. It was the harshness of her voice, however, that stayed her hand, because how many times had Harry talked about Professor Trelawney's real prophecies and the way she had turned hoarse and strange when she prophesied? So Hermione stood there, uneasy and a little startled as the Divination professor clutched her hand and looked into her face with tears streaming down her own._

"_Professor?" Hermione said slowly. "Are you all right?"_

"_You," Professor Trelawney moaned, "You, child of Muggles and storm, you must save us all."_

_Hermione was shaken. "What?"_

"The one with the power to destroy the Dark Lord is simultaneously his greatest weapon. He is the Dark Lord's last legacy, and will be the destruction of us all if he is not purged. Only hate can free his heart, for only hate can expel an evil that feeds off humanity. When love turns to hate in a moment of treachery, the One will be free and the Dark Lord will fall. If he is not purged, all is lost. All is lost. The one with the power…"

"_S-sorry?" Hermione couldn't breathe. The words, a prophecy, stunned her. They rang in her head like a haunting melody and she didn't know what to do. Professor Trelawney released her, and appeared to be struggling from breath for a moment, before she gasped and then looked at Hermione through surprised and protuberant eyes._

"_Why, my dear," she said mistily, "What are you doing here?"_

_Hermione turned around and ran._

_She raced across the castle to the entrance with the two gargoyles and gave them the password. Professor McGonagall had given them free run of her office in the hope that they might find something, and she now went upstairs into the office that was Dumbledore's, and found an empty room with star-strewn skies beyond. The portraits stirred, but it was only Dumbledore's that woke and looked at her._

"_Hermione," he said, sounding surprised, "To what do I owe this very late pleasure?"_

"_A – a prophecy from Professor Trelawney, sir," she stammered._

_Dumbledore's expression turned keenly interested. "Indeed? Perhaps I can be of assistance. Why don't you use my Pensieve, Hermione, and show me what Sybill conveyed to you?"_

_Hermione did so._

_As the revolving figure of Professor Trelawney replayed the words that seemed to have burned a mark right through Hermione's heart and soul with its ominous and horrifying message, Hermione watched, unable to speak. Then, when it was over and the seer sank back into the white misty depths of the magical bowl, Hermione turned and risked a look at Dumbledore. He looked very thoughtful._

"Last legacy_," he murmured, "I cannot hope that I am wrong. That must surely refer to something almost crystal clear: a Horcrux. The Dark Lord's last legacy of _immortality_." _

_Hermione choked back a sob. "And the one with the power…"_

"_Harry."_

"_This is horrible," Hermione whispered._

_She looked up at the portrait, trying to blink back the tears burning deep in her eyes and throat. Dumbledore's expression was one of infinite sorrow, and it told her that everything she had already speculated and interpreted in her mind was correct._

_It was the worst possible expression she could have seen._

"_You are an exceptionally clever young woman, Hermione," Dumbledore said quietly, "I don't think I need to tell you what I believe this prophecy almost certainly means."_

_Hermione swallowed. "No, sir."_

"_She called you the child of Muggles and storm, and told you that you must save us all."_

"_Yes."_

"_You are the only one he loves enough. The only one he would die for."_

_A knife was sliding deep into her._

"_Can you make the ultimate sacrifice, Hermione?"_

_Hermione felt like the world was crashing around her. "To save Harry, Professor, I must."_

"_Then you know what you must do."_

_And so she betrayed him. _

_Harry Potter was Lord Voldemort's last Horcrux, the fragment of his dark soul entwined with Harry's pure one, corrupting and destroying him. And only when love turned to hate in the shadow of betrayal, could the dark bit of soul be released from its enclosure, Harry's body. Only then could it be destroyed, and only then could Harry be free._

_And so she approached Severus Snape, who owed her a favour since she'd cleared his name, and asked him to teach her Occlumency over one month's time. She didn't tell him why, only asked for it and he agreed. And so she went to the Dark Lord, and subjected herself to torture until he believed she had turned to his side and would truly give him Harry Potter. And so she arranged it with him, that monster with red eyes who would haunt her forever, and she led Harry into the forest alone that night when she knew he would be waiting for him. Harry never knew what hit him._

_She took the biggest risk imaginable. Gambling Harry's and her lives on the sliver of a chance. And so… she betrayed him._

-END FLASHBACK-

"Hermione?"

She jerked back to reality, where the others were all staring at her in mild confusion and concern. Ginny was waving a hand slowly in front of her eyes. Hermione forced a smile and said: "Sorry, I was just thinking about something. What did you say, Ginny?"

"I asked you whether you wanted to go to Diagon Alley with me?"

Hermione blinked. "Go out, you mean?"

"Yeah," said Ginny cheerfully, "We could visit Fred and George, eat some divine ice-cream, that sort of thing. I'll buy! I have money now, now that I'm a curse-breaker like Bill. We could all use a break, and I figured I could convince Ron, Luna and Harry into coming along as well. And Tonks and Professor Lupin, of course."

"Thanks, Ginny, but Remus and I have to report at the Ministry," Tonks said, looking truly regretful. It couldn't have been plainer that Tonks would much rather eat ice-cream and look at a joke shop instead of sitting in a stuffy office with stuffy politicians. Hermione amused herself for a moment with an image of Tonks hexing the Minister for Magic (still Scrimgeour), who still tried to recruit Harry on a regular basis ("the nerve of him!").

Ginny grinned. "OK, well, what about the rest of you? Hermione?"

"I'd love to, Ginny – oh." Hermione broke off, suddenly remembering.

Ron looked at her. "What?"

"I just remembered… I'm supposed to be meeting Anthony in about an hour at Hogsmeade."

Harry choked on his orange juice.

"_Who_?" Ron demanded like an angry brother.

"Anthony Goldstein, don't you remember him? He was a Ravenclaw prefect in our year and part of the DA, really bright and very nice." Hermione could sense that everyone was staring at her with surprise, and she felt herself flushing slightly as she explained: "He's head of the new Protection of Mistreated Magical Fellows office that McGonagall helped set up, and I met him when I was in Hogwarts the other day. Protecting house-elves and goblins and stuff is the kind of thing I'd like to do, and I might as well look for a job just in case I wind up…" she broke off, feeling flustered, and added: "Well, anyway, when we met, he asked me if I'd like to work for him – "

"I'm sure he did," Harry muttered, sounding very annoyed.

Lupin and Tonks were carefully avoiding each other's eye. Ron looked flabbergasted. Ginny looked like she was trying not to laugh. "Erm – so you're meeting him in Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, just to discuss what kind of work I'd be doing if I agreed to his offer."

"His offer, hah," said Harry under his breath, but audibly.

Hermione couldn't help feeling slightly pleased that Harry was obviously possessive and jealous over this. But at the same time, she wished he could understand that she needed to pretend that her life was all right… and Anthony knew nothing about her sickness or whatever.

"It's just a business meeting," she said calmly, although she didn't quite see why she had to explain herself to him.

"Where are you meeting?" asked Harry sceptically.

Hermione felt her face grow hot. "Madam Puddifoot's," she mumbled.

"Great place for business," growled Harry.

"Look, he suggested it, all right?"

"How astonishing!"

This was obviously altogether too much for Tonks, who hastily excused herself and bolted from the room. They could hear her smothered giggles all the way up the stairs to the bathroom.

"Hermione," said Lupin calmly, obviously trying to inject some reason into the proceedings that Luna, who had not spoken at all during breakfast, was watching with mild interest along with Ginny and Ron, who were positively apoplectic with amusement and annoyance, respectively. "Is it wise to be on your own somewhere? I mean, in the sun and everything… if you were to faint or feel unwell…"

Hermione responded quickly: "I'll be fine. I feel all right today."

"I think it's a bad idea," Harry said firmly.

"That's unexpected," remarked Ginny, nodding wisely. Harry threw her a dirty look.

Hermione stood up. "I'm going to meet him about this possible job. I'll be fine. You guys have fun at Diagon Alley." She hoped she made it clear that if she caught any of them tailing her at Hogsmeade, they would be so dead. She met Harry's eyes briefly, and saw a mixture of annoyance, pleading and a hint of amusement.

"See you later," she said to the table at large, and left the room. She tried not to think about the fact that there was a faint needle of dizziness prickling the insides of her head.

…

…

…

"I'm looking for an assistant head of office," Anthony explained to Hermione when they were sitting across from each other at a small table in Madam Puddifoot's, the haven of couples. Hermione tried to focus on Anthony's words and not think about Harry, or about how he and Cho Chang had come here on their first and last real date.

Hermione cocked her head, swallowing back her nausea. "And you think I might be a good candidate for the post?"

"You're the only candidate I'd be willing to consider," smiled Anthony. "You care about the mistreated magical creatures, Hermione, you wouldn't be doing it just for the good pay. And you're one of the smartest people I've ever known, infinitely more so than many Ravenclaws I've known." He grinned. "I still don't know how you wound up in Gryffindor. All I can say is, they were one lucky house… and Harry and Ron were lucky to have you as a friend."

"Well, thank you," said Hermione, managing a smile. She looked around a little dizzily. There were a couple of other people she knew here. Hagrid and Madame Maxime were at a table on the side of the room (Hagrid had nearly had a heart attack, seeing her with someone who wasn't Harry, until she explained the whole strictly business part), and Hestia Jones of the Order of the Phoenix was sitting at the bar. Hermione wished she could keep her mind on what Anthony was saying, but she really felt far too ill to do anything of the sort. She had absorbed maybe thirty percent of everything he had explained to her about the office and how it was run. She was beginning to think Harry had been right: this had been a bad idea. She should have just asked Anthony to meet her somewhere closer to home, less stuffy, and less crowded.

Anthony frowned slightly. "Hermione, are you all right? You look a little sick. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Um… a ginger beer would be nice," Hermione said, trying to get the words out without the slight blurring of the room around her. She felt so tired. Her voice was a little distant because of the dizziness. "Thank you."

Giving her a concerned look, Anthony rose and went to the counter to order quickly there. Hermione suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to throw up and the room got very hot and damp, and she stood up quickly, perhaps too quickly, to hurry to the bathroom.

As she stood, she felt the horrible sinking sensation that it was all over. The room spun around wildly, and Hermione ran for the door. She heard Anthony call something behind her, and Hestia Jones had vanished, and the world was spinning. She burst out into the fresh air and stumbled blindly down a deserted alley, before she realized she'd come the wrong way and couldn't move any longer. Hermione had only the vaguest recollection of falling to the ground in a faint.

The next thing she knew, her eyes were open and her skin was soaked in a cold sweat, and she was all alone and nobody would find her because they didn't know where she had gone and she was all on her own and didn't think she could think, let alone move.

Harry, she thought desperately.

_Harry. _

_Hear me._

_Harry._

Miles away, Harry, brooding over his ice-cream in Diagon Alley, jerked his head up as if someone had just called him from across the street. "Hermione," he said softly.

At that precise instant, Hestia Jones Apparated in front of their table.

"We have a problem," she said.

Hermione didn't know what was happening. The silent, desperate plea in her head had died… but seconds later, miraculously, people began appearing all around her with loud _cracks_. Like a circle of protective lions closing in around her within an uproar of shock, Hermione found herself looking up at Ron, at Ginny, at Terry, Luna, Neville… and at Harry.

"Harry," she whispered.

"Shh," said Harry, crouching down next to her and touching her mouth, "I'm here."

She saw Anthony suddenly over her. "What happened?" he asked, sounding confused. "Hermione, what – Terry – I don't understand – "

"I'll stay here and explain," Terry said to Ginny, "You guys take it from here. Tony, listen…"

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, scooping her up into his arms, "We're getting out of here." He looked down at her for a moment, fear and worry etched across his face, and he kissed her lightly on her forehead.

Hermione looked vaguely at Anthony. "Sorry about the meeting," she mumbled.

He smiled weakly. "No problem."

Hermione's eyes wandered. Even as they disappeared from the alley and reappeared outside Number 12, Grimmauld Place, she caught a glimpse of someone at the very end of the alley, cloaked and hooded, and could have sworn the face grinning at her from under the hood was one she knew.

There was mayhem all around. Harry laid her down on the sofa in the den. Ron sat down at the foot of the sofa, watching her worriedly. Luna brought socks from Hermione's room and put them on her feet before sitting down next to Ron. Ginny and Neville re-emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of cool water and a cloth. Harry just stood beside her, her hand clutching his and refusing to let go, his jaw working hard.

Ginny wiped Hermione's brow and neck with the cool cloth. She could barely think. She felt so stupid, but so sick at the same time.

"Feel so silly," she mumbled.

They all looked at her and made various laughing or scornful sounds. "Oh, shut up, Hermione, and stop fishing for sympathy," Ron said with a snort.

Hermione couldn't help smiling.

Then Professor McGonagall was marching into the room. "Hestia just contacted me," she said in her brisk and crisp voice, which cracked only slightly at the sight of Hermione. "What happened? Shall I ask Severus to brew something that might help? I've got him working on a simple Pepper-Up Draught for now, but if there's anything else… good grief, what _happened_?"

Neville explained in a slightly nervous but worried voice. Professor McGonagall's brow puckered and she looked very disturbed.

"She's obviously entering the advanced stages of the spell, and weakening," she said. "She must be taken to St. Mungo's and cared for professionally for as long as we can. It's the only way we can make sure she recovers from this episode."

"What can healers do with a spell they know nothing about?" Ron asked.

Professor McGonagall looked worried. "We have no choice. We have to try everything, Mr Weasley. Miss Granger – Hermione – we'll take you outside and have the healers pick you up. It would be the swiftest and safest mode of getting you there – "

Hermione began to cry.

There was stunned silence for a moment as Harry knelt down beside the sofa and cradled Hermione, who sobbed into his chest. Professor McGonagall croaked: "But – Hermione – what's the matter?"

Hermione was trembling, and desperate. "I can't go to St. Mungo's – "

"It's very safe, Hermione," Neville said, "My – my parents are there, you know."

"I know, but I can't go. Harry, please, Harry, don't make me go there. I don't want to – I can't die in a hospital, Harry, please. I can't die there, if I have to, I need to die here at home. Please, Harry, don't let them take me there."

Harry looked at her, stricken, as if he had just been knifed in the heart.

"Hermione, you're delirious," Ron said quietly, sounding very worried. "You can't mean that."

"_Please_, Harry!" Hermione was almost screaming.

Harry straightened his shoulders. "Professor McGonagall," he said calmly, "We won't need the healers. If things get worse, we can always ask one of them to come here and take a look. I'm sure they'll do that for me. Hermione will stay here."

"Very well, Harry," said Professor McGonagall as briskly as possible, tears glistening in her eyes. "I'll get the potion from Severus then."

And she left. Hermione felt her breathing slow and calm a little.

Ginny looked furious. "But, Harry, they could save her!"

"They can't do a damned thing."

"Harry, you can't – "

"She stays, Ginny," Harry said coolly, "It's not negotiable."

For a moment, Ginny glared at Harry. Then, her eyes shifted to Hermione and her expression softened. She came towards Hermione and squeezed one of her hands. "I'm just worried about you," she said softly. "I don't want you to go there if you really don't want to."

Hermione nodded weakly. Then Ginny looked meaningfully at Neville, Ron and Luna. "Why don't the four of us go and make us all something to eat? Then we can all eat lunch together? Hermione ought to have something to eat anyway, it might make her feel better." She started towards the kitchen, with Neville and Luna in tow, but stopped when Ron didn't move.

"I'm no good at cooking," he said with a shrug.

Ginny glared at him. "You can come and scrub the floor then," she snapped.

Ron looked at Harry and Hermione, and then blinked. "Oh!" he said, looking surprised as if the light had just dawned. "Oh, right. Okay. Yeah. I'll help." And he followed Ginny out of the room so fast, Hermione, had she had the energy to think, would have been amazed that he hadn't stumbled over his two large uncoordinated feet.

The room emptied, and she looked at Harry. "How did we come to this?" she said tiredly.

He looked over her shoulder, as if seeing something that wasn't there. "I don't know," he said, and he sounded equally sad and tired. "It's as if everything just fell apart the minute I lost you. Nothing matters when you're not around, Hermione."

"You've been so alone," she said softly.

"So have you."

"Will you find me when it gets dark?"

He swallowed visibly. "I'll try."

"Promise me."

"I'll die before I give up."

Hermione felt her body relax slightly. Maybe it would be safe to fall asleep then. She would wake up again. Harry would find her. She looked into those green eyes, full of fear but also full of an unspoken comfort. The rock that would keep her steady. He had kept her home, had given her the one thing she wanted, even if it risked everything.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely.

He stroked her hair, and cracked a smile. "Anytime."

…

…

TBC.


	9. The Depth of Love

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize, unless it's an original from one of my other stories, does not belong to me.

**A/N: **A short chapter, but I just wanted to keep this separate from the next bit. I hope to update again very soon!

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Nine: The Depth of Love**

-FLASHBACK-

Harry had never felt so tired in his life. He stood in the shelter of Hogwarts castle with several of his friends, isolated from the teeming mass of students and teachers who were still getting over the shock and into the triumph of knowing Voldemort had been killed that night. And Harry, who should have been happiest of all, because his nightmare was now over, felt nothing but emptiness.

They stood under the Hogwarts arch, Neville and Ron sitting on the steps close by, Ron's face white and pale and suspiciously tear-stained. Luna sat next to Ron, silent as a ghost. Ginny was pacing nearby, her expression hard and stony with the faintest gleam of tears in her eyes. There were others there – Hagrid, Tonks, Lupin, Terry Boot, Parvati Patil, Mad-Eye Moody – a large number, all fairly close at hand. No one seemed to know what to say to the small group of friends in the corner, or to Harry, and they merely kept the crowds who wanted to thank or congratulate Harry or ask questions away. Occasionally, Hagrid let out a stifled wail. Some people looked confused, obviously unable to understand why the mood in this group was so flat.

Harry wished for the first time that when Voldemort had died, he had somehow taken him with him. Tom Riddle was gone, but maybe Harry Potter should have gone too. What did he have left, without Herm –

He couldn't bear to think of it. Of her. She had betrayed him, led him to death!

His entire being felt numb, like stone.

And yet… Harry, leaning against the wall of the arch, looked up to see Professor McGonagall make her way through the ring of Order people guarding the group, towards Harry. In her wake was Snape, whom Harry knew was not "evil" but whom he would never like.

"Harry," Professor McGonagall said quickly, looking strained and worried. "Are you all right?"

He nodded flatly, although he knew he never would be.

"We have to talk, Harry."

"Okay," he said, and his voice sounded so strange to his own ears that he wondered for a moment whether he had really spoken. He looked expectantly at the Headmistress of Hogwarts and the ex-Potions/Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He knew they could talk freely here; there was no one they couldn't trust.

Although, thought Harry miserably, you never could tell, could you? The one person he had believed would never let him fall had betrayed him to his worst enemy.

"Where's Hermione?"

The sound of the name sent a tremor through the entire group. Ron looked up, his expression like someone had hit him. Neville went stiff and rigid. Ginny froze and came closer. Hagrid let out another wail. Even Luna looked up. Professor McGonagall did not miss these reactions, especially Harry's, because Harry was sure his eyes revealed the pain that flashed through. She looked very alarmed.

"Harry?" she said, and looked around. "Miss Weasley? What happened? Where's Miss Granger?"

Snape was silent, studying Harry closely.

Harry couldn't speak. It was Ron who croaked out unexpectedly: "We don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Harry – we – told her to leave. We don't know where she went."

Hagrid was leaking large fat tears into his sleeve. Professor McGonagall looked shocked, and her expression slowly turned to the stern look of anger they all knew so well. "You sent her away, I suppose, because she led Harry straight to You-Know-Who?"

"She betrayed Harry," Neville said indignantly, sounding miserably, "He could have been killed tonight because of what she did!"

"So you sent her away?" Snape said slowly.

"Yes."

Snape shook his head. "Fools," he said coolly. "Didn't you have any faith at all?"

Harry nearly exploded. "What do you know about this?" he snarled. "Do you even have any idea what it did to us to have to tell her to leave? But she was a danger to us all – we couldn't afford to give her another chance after what she did – "

"What she did, Potter, was save your life."

There was a stunned silence.

"What are you talking about?" Ron said slowly, standing up.

"Miss Granger only pretended to join Voldemort," Snape said coldly. "She took Occlumency lessons from me, learnt swiftly, and went to him. I assume he must have tortured her for hours before he decided she was trustable. And then she told him she would bring you, Potter, to him. She did. But in doing that, she saved your life and the magical world. At a terrible price. Perhaps you will never realize how much it must have cost her to take you to him. To endure his tortures for you. But she did it – that was the depth of her love."

Harry couldn't hear it, he didn't want to hear it. He heard, from somewhere far away, Ginny say sharply: "But the only reason Harry survived was because we followed them – "

"Miss Weasley, you ought to have more intelligence," Professor McGonagall said equally sharply. "Hermione _made sure_ Neville would be at the North Tower post, so that he would see them move across the ground, and she _knew_ he would alert the others because she had warned him earlier that it was important not to let any of the group go anywhere near the forest."

"But why?" Ron yelled. "Why would she do any of this? What good did it do anyone?"

Professor McGonagall and Snape looked at each other. Then Snape said coolly: "We were just upstairs in Professor McGonagall's office, and Dumbledore's portrait had something to tell us." And the story came out, about the prophecy and Hermione going to confirm her interpretation of it, and the realization of what she would have to do. He told them, in his cold, precise voice, everything Dumbledore told them. Professor McGonagall blew her nose.

Snape concluded by offering to take them upstairs, where Hermione's memory of Trelawney was preserved in the Pensieve. The silence that fell after he stopped speaking was so thick it felt like a blanket of the most absolute darkness. Harry felt like his mind was spinning out of control.

"_Harry, please, please just let me explain – please listen to me – _"

"_Go, Hermione. Go before I change my mind._"

He hadn't even given her a chance to explain. She had sacrificed everything to save him, and he had given her a betrayal that far exceeded her own in return. Harry wanted to throw up.

"No," he said in a broken voice, "No…" He buried his face in his hands.

"Harry – "

"NO!" he shouted, and turning, he took off across the grounds. He had to find her. He had to find her before something happened to her, he had to find her and beg her to forgive him, he needed her to hold him and tell him that she loved him and that she would never leave him, he needed to tell her how sorry he was…

He tore through the trees, past the bodies of Death Eaters and their own casualties which still needed to be taken care of. He rushed right through the gates, all the way to the train station, but there was nobody there. Blinded by tears, Harry ran.

He never found her.

They returned to the castle, defeated, by the time dawn broke over the wintry night sky. A group of tired, broken people who knew that they had done the unforgivable. Who knew that they had lost a friend, a lover forever. Who knew that Hermione was gone, and that they would never find her because she was the smartest witch of her age.

Hermione's parents moved to America a few months later, when empty reports told them that no one had been able to find their daughter. Harry couldn't bear to go to her house and pack up the things her parents had left behind – practically everything that had belonged to Hermione. So Ron and Ginny went inside, and brought several boxes to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and put them away, never to be looked at again until several years had passed and Hermione was once again within the walls of the house. But they had no idea this would ever happen. They didn't imagine a new nightmare was coming, nightmare and beautiful dream intertwined. Would they have exchanged Hermione's health and happiness for never seeing her again? They didn't know. But it was with pleasure and pain that they welcomed her back all those years again.

And, haunted by their nightmares in those days of the past, they all tried to live. But it was hard. Guilt was an ever-present shadow that lurked over their shoulders, snaking its way in in the dark of the night, and Harry, at least, never lived again.

Then, three years later, Snape went back to Hermione's house, convinced there was something there that must have been missed. He found no clues about where Hermione was, but he did find something… a little blue box. He recognized the box at once for what it was, and rightly assumed that this rare device had been enchanted and created for one person alone.

On Harry's twenty-first birthday, Snape gave it to him.

Harry was alone in his bedroom when he finally worked up the courage to press the little black panel on the top of the box. The box snapped open, like a bizarre flower, and in the very centre glowed a golden light. Harry watched, spellbound, as a jet of light shot out of the centre and hit the wall. From the light grew a figure. Harry felt like his heart was breaking as a life-size, three-dimensional but slightly translucent figure of Hermione stood in front of him, looking right into his eyes.

She was eighteen years old. Harry realized that this had been 'recorded' before she had put her 'plan' into action.

"Harry," she said quietly, "Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," he croaked, knowing she couldn't hear him and that this was only a recording.

"I've put a charm on this box, so only you can open it. I don't know whether you'll ever forgive me, or find the heart to open this box and listen to what I have to say. But if you are watching this, then I assume you know all about the prophecy…" Tears sparkled on her face as they trickled out of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry. I hope one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I have to break your heart. I have to make you hate me, for only then will the Horcrux inside you be released and you can destroy it. It'll kill you if I don't free you, Harry, and I'll give anything up if I could save you.

"Things are going to get dark, and maybe I won't survive this war. All I need you to know is that I love you, and that if I can save you, I would gladly die for it and I would die happy, if I only knew you were all right. I love you, Harry. I suppose that's all I can really say, and I wish there was some way I could tell you how much, but there are no words to describe it. I'm about to hurt you terribly, and perhaps you might call that a very poor show of love. But know one thing, Harry, that the person I hurt most through all of this will be myself. I won't hurt you with stories of what Voldemort has done to me before he was convinced that he could trust me. Let me just say that I would gladly live it all over again if this works. I won't let you die, Harry. I love you too much.

"So I think that's all I can really say to you. One day, perhaps, you'll see this and you'll know. I hope you're happy, wherever you are. I'm sorry, Harry. Someday, please, forgive me for what I'm about to do. Someday, remember that I loved you."

The figure smiled a strange, sad, sweet smile, and touched her fingers to her mouth. And then, raising her hand in a farewell wave, Hermione disappeared.

Harry was on his knees in front of the blank wall and ground, sobbing almost hysterically.

"Hermione… come back," he sobbed.

And then, an hour later, Harry was on his feet, standing up with his wand in his hand, suddenly knowing with every shred of his heart what he had to do. They had lived in darkness for far too long. It was time to fight for the light.

He looked at the little box, and promised: "I'll bring you back."

The very next night, he went to Yorkshire.

-END FLASHBACK-

…

…

TBC.


	10. Betrayed

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you recognize. The song used in this chapter belongs to Avenged Sevenfold.

**A/N: **I'm a hideously bad writer when it comes to satisfying readers' demands. I honestly have no excuses, so I'm just going to hope that this chapter will win my readers' forgiveness!

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**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Ten: Betrayed**

…

…

"How is she?" Ginny asked Harry.

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table and halfheartedly spooning some casserole down his throat under the threatening stance of Ron's wand, and he looked up when Ginny marched into Number 12, Grimmauld Place and asked the question in a tone of voice that indicated she would not appreciate anything but the plain, brutal truth.

He replied honestly, "Well, she refuses to be treated like an invalid, and so she wanders around and she hasn't shown any sign of fainting again, which is a good sign. Snape and McGonagall's Pepper-Up potions seem to be slowing down the onset of the sickness poison, but I can't say she's getting better. She can't. There's only one way she can, and I guess Ron told you about it already, so…" he shrugged, and stared off into space, at some unseen point on the kitchen wall. Ron looked at Ginny and his expression twitched as if he was trying to say "lay off the poor bugger, all right? He's not having an easy time".

Ginny placed her hands on her hips. "Where is she now?" she asked, though more gently.

"Her room," said Harry, and he hesitated, swallowing, before he added, "She collected all our old photographs and wants to make an album. When Ron, tactful git that he is, asked her whether she wanted to make sure we remembered her once she was gone, she nodded simply and said 'yes'. Then she said, 'I want you to remember the happier times, anyway, and not remember me as a sick and fragile person'."

Ron withdrew his wand and turned away towards the window. It didn't help much; in the snow-frosted glass they could see him blinking away tears. Ginny rubbed her eyes, obviously doing the same, and Harry just stared down into his casserole, wondering how everything could have gone so wrong.

He stood up abruptly, making Ron and Ginny start, and he grabbed his coat. "I'm going out for a walk," he said in an undertone, and before either of them could protest that it was too cold or that a stray Death Eater might find him and get the better of him, or that Hermione might call and he wouldn't be here (because he knew, judging from her withdrawn, distant, sad behavior of the past few days, that she wouldn't call for him), he added, "I'll be fine and my coat is warm and Hermione doesn't trust me, and I can't make her, so she won't call for me if she can help it. All right? I need to go. I need to feel the cold wind. I need to hurt on the outside. Will one of you stay with her?"

"We'll both be here, mate, don't worry," said Ron, looking rather shaken by Harry's speech.

"I think I'll go upstairs and see her," Ginny added, glancing worriedly at Ron as if she wasn't sure who to feel sorrier for: Hermione or Harry. "Be careful and don't wander too far, Harry. McGonagall might come calling with some information."

He shrugged without responding and walked out the door, head bowed, wondering, once again, how he could possibly make it right after the immensity of his betrayal of her.

Ginny left Ron to go and wake Luna up (she'd fallen asleep in the library) and to have a conversation with Sirius's portrait, and went upstairs to where Hermione's room was. Memories washed over as she walked down the corridor, each step bringing a new one. Laughing with Hermione about boys, and their shared disgust of the silly way they behaved. Hermione comforting her after that Dementor's appearance in the train. How valiantly Hermione had beamed at them after Harry had kissed her in the common-room, trying so hard to be happy for them. Hermione was Ginny's best friend. She'd gotten through three years without her somehow, but she didn't know if she could do it again.

As she reached Hermione's door, Ginny heard a strange sound that made her stop, hand halfway to the door, about to knock. It was the sound of music. Ginny knew Hermione had one of those Muggle radios in her room and that she often listened to music, but this sounded like something they called 'hard stone'… no, hard rock, that was what it was. And Ginny wasn't sure Hermione was the hard-rock kind of girl.

She strained to hear the lyrics, and they made her stiffen.

_Passion in my eyes, I lived it everyday,_

_but how could you go and throw it all away?_

_In my dreams it's me and you,_

_it's there I saw it all come true_

_As time went by, faith in you grew,_

_so one thing's left for me to do_

_I feel it burn inside,_

_burn in me like the rising sun_

_Lifted into the sky,_

_took away the only thing I loved_

_I know after tonight,_

_all your power crumbles in my arms_

_So don't worry, I'll be fine,_

_when my life ends, I'll leave this scar_

Ginny realized there were tears trickling down her face, and she hastily wiped them away and then entered the room to see Hermione lying on her bed and staring out of the window with liquid eyes, a single tear rolling down her cheek, a faint, sad smile playing along her lips. Ginny walked towards her on slightly shaky steps, then straightened and sat down on the edge of the bed. She heard a little more of the song –

_I started here so young and helped you get along_

_Just did it for the love, and people healed through us_

_Don't live your life in vain, don't take it out on me_

_You're cracked, so just remember, I'm not your enemy_

_I don't deserve to fall this way, by a man who felt betrayed_

– and couldn't bear to hear anymore, and she quickly turned the radio off. Hermione's smile shifted slightly, as if she was aware that Ginny had turned off the song, but she continued to stare out of the window with that sad smile and tear-filled eyes, single tears following the single trail down her pale face.

"Hermione," Ginny said softly, "Hermione, are you all right? Do you feel okay?"

Hermione's eyes didn't waver as she answered dreamily, "Look at the tree. It's still green, Ginny, it's still green. But the leaves are falling off, one by one. I've counted them ever since they started to fall. Thirty-two, and there are about a thousand left, I'd say. But if twenty fall each hour, the tree ought to be bare by Friday. It ought to be dead by Friday. It can only hold on for so long… it's not strong enough to hold on forever with nothing to hold onto."

Ginny began to cry, and she didn't even bother to hide it this time. "Don't say that," she pleaded, "Hermione, please, there are people here who love you and you can hold onto them. Harry… Harry loves you, whatever else might happen. You have to hold on. Don't let go."

"The wind is so cold, Ginny. It blows mercilessly. The tree hurts, it hurts everywhere, can't you see? How long do you want it to suffer?"

"Hermione – "

"The leaves are falling. You can't stop them."

Ginny said fiercely, "We can glue them on magically, if that's what it'll take to give you hope."

"When I was small," Hermione said softly, smiling that dreamy, sad smile again, "My mother told me an O. Henry short story as a bedtime story. There was a very sick girl in it, and she believed that she would die when the last leaf fell. And there was a landlord in their building, a man who wanted to be a painter, and he painted his dream, his masterpiece, only a few hours before he died from cold. You know what that masterpiece was? He painted a leaf on the tree so that the girl had hope and so that she held on until she got better. And he died for it. I don't want anyone dying for me in the cold. But would they try, Ginny? Do you think Harry will paint a leaf for me so that I live?"

"Harry would do anything for you, Hermione. But… but you have to trust him if you want him to save you. He can't save you so long as you hurt because of what he did, so long as you can't bring yourself to depend on him."

Hermione turned her head away from the window at last, and looked Ginny straight in the eye. And she looked so tired, and yet so full of a desperate strength, that Ginny choked back a sob. "I've hurt enough," she said flatly. "When I needed him, he let me fall. If I need him again, I'm too afraid that he'll let me fall again. I love Harry. I'd die for him. But I don't know if I can ever trust him again."

"Have you ever thought of how much he hurt?"

"All the time," said Hermione bitterly, "I'm afraid, too, that I'll hurt him again. Can I take the risk? I don't know anymore. I don't know anything anymore, Ginny. Nothing. I was once the clever one, the storehouse of knowledge. Now? Nothing. Nothing but an aching, hollow emptiness."

…

…

…

Harry found himself in Diagon Alley. He didn't know how he got there, how, in the space of an hour and a half, he had managed to walk all the way into Diagon Alley, but he was here. He looked around, at the happy hustle and bustle of people doing their wandering or their shopping. Some distance away, he saw a young girl with bushy brown hair looking around in wonder and absolute incredulity. A Muggleborn, obviously, newly introduced to the world of magic. There was a lump in Harry's throat that wouldn't go away.

He was being followed. He could sense the presence following him some distance away, and he didn't care. It was probably Ginny or Tonks or Terry or Ernie or somebody like that, sent to trail him and make sure he didn't get himself into any trouble or didn't get attacked. A small boy stopped him and asked him for his autograph. Harry smiled mechanically, his patented shy awkward smile, and signed the piece of parchment. He hated that part of being the Boy who Loved, the Boy who Won. He hated being treated like a celebrity, as if he was famous because he lived and what of all those who had died? Forgotten. Grimly, his jaw set, he walked against the cold wind past the Christmas decorations and sales all over the place. Christmas. It would be here in five days. It seemed strange that something so normal could still exist. When was the last time he'd had a merry Christmas?

On impulse, Harry, catching sight of a jeweler's store, went in and bought something. He could deal with presents for everybody else later, but he had seen something he wanted very badly to get Hermione, to maybe make her Christmas a little better. He buried the package deep in his coat pocket, his fingers closing around his wand as he did so. He pulled it out.

Then he turned off down a lonely but relatively well-lit alley. He wasn't afraid of being mugged. He was Harry Potter, after all, he thought with a twist of irony. No one was going to attack him, either because they simply didn't want to or because they were too afraid to. He continued walking down the alley purposefully, counting the doors all along the walls, as if he knew exactly where he was going. He was aware of a hooded figure following him down the alley at a leisurely pace, as if he or she was just idly strolling. Harry knew better. He stopped next to a rundown 'closed for repairs' shop window and peered inside. The figure behind him, obviously realizing it would make no sense to stop as well and give himself/herself away, strolled past him.

As soon as the person, whoever it was, moved behind Harry, Harry turned astonishingly quickly, grabbed the figure and pushed him against the wall, though not very hard (he didn't want to hurt Terry or Ernie or whoever it was). He pushed the tip of his wand against the hooded face. "You really have to stop following me," he said grimly.

Then he yanked down the hood.

And his eyes went wide. The face was one he knew very well, though he hadn't seen it in many years. The head of smooth blond hair was straggly and untidy, and the thin frame wasn't as tough as it once was, and there was no hint left of a swagger. Even the cold grey eyes were tired and almost fearful of the wand pressed against its jaw.

"Malfoy," Harry hissed, taking a step back but keeping his wand trained on the young man standing opposite him. "I thought you vanished into hiding after the Ministry broke your nose and wand and placed a ban of your ever using magic?"

Draco Malfoy, due to his youth and his sincere regret, had been given a conditional pardon and had not been sent to Azkaban when the Death Eaters had been arrested and disbanded. He had been warned never to use magic again, that authorities would know and his wand and nose had been broken for good measure. Now he was here, after nearly four years of silence, and Harry had not expected to see him again.

"I haven't broken any of the rules," Malfoy said bitterly, "Haven't touched magic in years. I came to find you, Potter."

"Yeah, I got that, considering you were following me. What's up? Trying to figure whether it would be a good idea for you and your remaining Death Eater pals to do me in? I'll make it easy for you: don't bother. I don't have time for your rubbish, all right? So get out of here before I decide that I'd like to dish out some punishment for the hell you've put us through."

Malfoy didn't budge, but he eyed the wand, and he forced calm. "Look, Potter, you want to hear what I have to say. I'm trying to help you. You have to trust me."

Harry let out a bitter laugh. "Trust seems to be the real keyword of my life. That, and betrayal. Are those familiar to you, Malfoy? Now, I barely even trust Snape and I know he's on our side: why would I trust you? No, forget that, why would _you_ want to help _me_? That's the more interesting question, I think."

"I never hated Dumbledore," Malfoy said abruptly, and he sounded strangled, "And the man was a real pain in the – but he tried, Potter, he tried to save me even when I was going to kill him. I feel responsible for his death and I know he cared about you. So, consider this my way of trying to make up for what I did to the old man. I'm trying to do the right thing just this once. So don't make it harder than it already is to help you, all right?"

"I'll give you five seconds to talk," said Harry brusquely, "So make good use of it."

"The old Death Eaters – about five of them are left, I think, and they're not a threat – still fawn over me because of who my father was. So I see them now and again. Since your pal dealt with Greyback, he's no longer a problem, but Dolohov is still one. He's bitter and he wants revenge; he's not willing to crawl into the shadows with the rest of us. My five seconds up yet?"

"Go on, I'm listening," growled Harry.

"Greyback told Dolohov about your visit to him. Dolohov figures you might actually be able to save Hermione Granger, so he wants to cut you off. He's been outside Grimmauld Place for ages, he followed you there once, and he's been waiting for you to leave so he can break in and get to her and finish her off."

Harry felt something explode inside him. It was pure, absolute panic.

"You mean he could be there now?"

"He probably has managed to break in by now, yeah."

"But – but the Fidelius Charm – "

"Potter, if you were any slower, you'd be going backwards," said Malfoy with a sneer, "Dumbledore's dead, remember, and _he _was your Secret-Keeper! You and your lot never created a new one! The place is open to anyone once they get past the Unplottable charms, which Dolohov figured out in a short time."

Harry didn't wait to hear anymore. He started running, and, mid-run, he Apparated into thin air.

Oh, God, he prayed, Please don't let me be too late.

…

…

TBC.

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	11. Mask of Death

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you recognize.

**A/N: **A quick update! I'm trying, I really am! Anyway, please review.

…

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**Take Me Home**

**Chapter Eleven: Mask of Death**

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…

Ron was holding a bottle of Butterbeer when he knocked at Hermione's bedroom door. He heard a voice call, "Come in!" and he went in to find her sitting up again and compiling the photographs into the album once again. She was muttering to herself as she sorted them out by type and date and all kinds of other categories that were a little disturbing, to say the least, but comforting because it reminded him so much of the Hermione they'd known.

"Hi," he said a little awkwardly, shutting the door behind him and walking in. "I brought you a warm bottle of Butterbeer. Thought it might make you feel a little… er… better."

"You've been talking to Ginny," stated Hermione, picking out a picture of Harry, Ron and herself.

Ron got defensive. "And so what if I have? She's worried about you. So am I."

"Tell Ginny I'm sorry," Hermione told him, still staring at the photograph. She was in the middle, and trying to look disapproving as Harry and Ron wrestled around her. They were all laughing. It had been taken in their sixth year sometime, she couldn't quite remember when. She looked up at Ron and said, "I didn't mean to frighten her. Where is she now?"

"She had to go meet Terry, some kind of fertility test or something – " Ron turned maroon. "They – er – they've been trying to have kids but it's not happening so they want to know why."

"I see," said Hermione, letting out a smothered giggle in spite of herself at Ron's horrified embarrassment at the thought of his sister and her husband going at it. She looked down at the picture and gently stroked it, fondly, tracing Harry's face lovingly and sadly. 'Oh, Harry,' she thought.

"But – " said Ron on a brighter note, with the voice of one determined to change the subject at all costs, "Fred and George came over to, you know, watch over you because Ginny left. They don't think Luna and I are responsible enough. Tonks went off to look for Harry; Lupin will kill me and her if he finds out, 'cause she's four months pregnant and shouldn't be off doing tiring stuff." Ron looked entirely out of his depth. "At least – I don't know – "

Hermione smiled to herself, put the photograph into a spot in the album, and said, "How are _you_, Ron?"

"Me?" He looked surprised, and answered too quickly, "I'm fine."

"Of course you are. And?"

Ron turned red again, and he looked, if possible, even more embarrassed, only this time it was in a happier sort of way. Hermione thought she knew what was coming even before he answered her, and she waited with a grin as he said, "Um… I just thought you might want to know that… er… Luna and I are going to get married next summer."

"That's excellent, Ron!" Hermione said, scooting forward on the bed a little stiffly because of her muscles but with genuine delight. She hugged him and he patted her on the back. "I'm so happy for you! It's about time."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm kinda happy about it too. And I really have to thank you for it."

"What did I do?" she asked, bewildered.

"Look, Hermione, I'm not the most sensitive kind of guy and I really don't mean this in the wrong way, but it's just that having you back made me realize that I need to value and hold onto the things that matter to me – like you, and like Luna. And – and, you know – what with your being sick and – look, don't take this the wrong way – "

"I think I understand," said Hermione gently, "Seeing me sick made you realize you never know how much time you might have with the person you love."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. "I can always count on you to put feelings into words."

"Thanks. And thanks for the Butterbeer, Ron."

"No problem." They both turned their heads at the sound of a dull crash from below. Ron uttered an oath and stood up. "Those gits! I told them not to make any noise. I think I'll go downstairs and shake some sense into the two of them." He winked and went to the door, and closed it gently as he left the room. He glanced back at the door, feeling a pang of sorrow as he acknowledged how fragile and pale Hermione looked, how much weight she had lost. Then he walked down the corridor, and Hermione, sitting in her room, touched a photograph of Ron giving Luna a "are you crazy" look back in their fifth year, and smiled to herself, glad that there was still some happiness left in a world that looked so bleak and dark to her.

Ron wandered down the stairs, and came to an abrupt halt halfway down them. Fred was lying sprawled face-up, absolutely still, at the foot of the stairs. Ron could tell, through a suddenly panicked and fevered brain, that Fred was still alive because he was breathing. Probably stunned. George was lying several feet away, trying to get up, his nose bloody, and Luna… Ron froze… Luna was standing in front of him with her wand drawn, pointed at a hooded figure standing with his back to the stairs and to Ron.

"Get away," Luna said threateningly, but her wide eyes were even wider than usual, telling Ron that she was genuinely frightened. And for good reason. This was obviously a Death Eater.

Ron didn't bother questioning how a Death Eater could have gotten into Number 12, he didn't bother wondering who it was or why they were here. All he saw was his fiancée in confrontation with a man who had bloodied one brother's nose and Stunned another. And Ron, as he had always done in such a situation, reacted on pure instinct and adrenaline alone.

He had left his wand in the kitchen, foolishly, and so all he could do now was throw himself forward and tackle the hooded figure around the legs. Both went crashing to the floor, and Ron found himself pinning a strong, thin figure down. Next thing he knew, the man in question had his wand pushed into Ron's cheek and as the hood fell back, Ron recognized him and his blood ran cold: Antonin Dolohov. Ron was not a quick thinker, but in that instant, it clicked: Dolohov was here for Hermione. That was why he hadn't killed anyone else. Ron's goal suddenly became about keeping this monster away from Hermione at all costs.

"Luna," he shouted, "Get out. Get out onto the street and scream for help. There's bound to be some member of the Order keeping watch nearby. Just keep screaming until someone finds you. Go! Luna, go now!"

She hesitated, then probably saw the force of his argument, and she took off for the door while Ron faced the dangerous wand. He had his hands on Dolohov's throat, which was probably why the latter hadn't yet tried to curse him. Obviously, Dolohov was about as much a master of non-verbal spells as Ron himself had been back in school. Ron squeezed the throat harder, trying to ignore the hammering of his terrified heart, and he yelled, "George! George, Apparate home and bring Mum and Dad!"

George was gone in a flash, with one last worried at his two brothers left behind.

Distantly, Ron could hear Luna screaming for help out on the street. He felt a sudden pang of panic. Obviously, no one was coming. And if he could hear her screams, then that meant that someone else might be able to…

Ron let out a groan as Dolohov, seizing his moment of abstraction, kicked him off and pointed his wand down dangerously, eyes glittering.

With all the speed and dodging imbibed into any Quidditch player, Ron ran for the kitchen. Jets of deadly green light missed him by inches as he seized his wand off the table and turned and yelled "_PROTEGO_!" just as Dolohov began the Avada Kedavra again. Before Ron could react again, Dolohov muttered "_Expelliarmus_" and Ron's wand flew out of his hand and hit the nearby window. Ron sank to his knees desperately, panicked and wishing for forgiveness, and all the while, his mind screamed for Harry to help him.

"And now, Weasley," hissed Dolohov, "You can die. Don't worry, though. Your pretty friend will join you soon enough."

Ron closed his eyes. "I've failed," he thought miserably.

Then a blinding flash of light, and –

"_Protego_!"

The light from Dolohov's wand was deflected, and Dolohov looked up and behind Ron with a truly evil grin on his face. Ron turned and saw Hermione, shaky and white-faced with anger and effort and determination, standing in the kitchen doorway in her pajamas and a tank top, wand outstretched and pointed at the Death Eater.

Dolohov smiled triumphantly. "I see my spell's been working rather well, eh, Mudblood?"

Ron was on his feet in anger in seconds, but Dolohov kicked him hard in the gut and cried out a "_Petrificus Totalus_!" and Hermione shrieked, "Get out of the way, Ron! Don't you dare risk yourself again!"

Then she turned and ran. As she must have expected, Dolohov abandoned Ron and took off after her, obviously afraid she might run outside. Ron, stiff as a board and unable to do anything but watch, prayed that she would go outside, because Luna could help her, someone would come, even a Muggle… but as his eyes twisted around, trying to look through the doorway, his heart sank as he saw Hermione take off up the stairs of the house. From the den, Ron could hear Sirius screaming, "Ron! Hermione! Hermione! What's happening!"

Tears began to trickle down Ron's stiff face, and he wondered how he would ever face Harry again.

Hermione shot into her room and slammed and locked the door behind her, breathing hard and feeling like her heart was about to burst out of her chest and her head was spinning, making her feel horribly sick. Dolohov would spend a few seconds trying to unlock a magically locked door, and she could buy herself some time.

The images of Fred and Ron lying prone on the floor, of hearing Luna's screams out on the street, made Hermione feel nauseous and took her back to those final days in the war against Voldemort. How much death and torment had she seen? How much had Voldemort made her see, subjected her to? She hurried to the window, threw it open, letting in the bitterly cold air and flecks of snow, and she looked out, trying to see whether there was any way she could jump out of here. She could hear Dolohov roaring spells outside her room, and every second brought her closer to death. She realized it was much too far to jump. She would die in the attempt, and there wasn't even a broom here to help her, and she didn't have enough energy to Apparate. That effort would certainly kill her.

The door burst open, and Hermione, standing straight and tall, turned, wand out, determined to face whatever came at her because she was not about to run from her demons or from death.

"So," Dolohov drawled, "Filthy Mudblood, did you really think you could escape me?"

Hermione sent curse after curse at him, but he blocked every one and kept advancing on her. When he finally got close enough to touch her, he reached out and backhanded her hard across the face. Hermione felt her lip tear and bleed and pain bloom through her face as she fell forward onto the ground. Dolohov stood over her.

"You know," he said with a horrible grin, "Maybe I could take advantage of your helplessness before I kill you. After all, I can't _catch_ your sickness." Hermione began to tremble. She could have borne anything, anything but that horrible thought of being violated and used in the worst possible way. She felt the first few tears roll down her cheeks and she tried, with whatever strength she had left, to attempt another curse, but it was so feeble that Dolohov barely had to flick his wand to deflect it. He looked sickeningly triumphant, sickeningly intent, the mask of death.

"Get away from her," a voice growled from just inside her bedroom.

Hermione turned. "Harry," she whispered, and such joy and relief flooded her that she felt giddy and light-headed at the sight of him.

His face was a cold mask of fury and his wand was out, perfectly steady. In that moment, Hermione knew Harry could kill another man if he had to, and he was perfectly capable of doing it now. He pointed his wand and said, "Get away from her. Step back, slowly." His face twisted into a mocking grin. "You ought to be careful about who you let in on your plans. People aren't always as loyal as you believe them. And some," Harry's voice shook, "Are more loyal than you ever thought."

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "Harry, don't!"

Dolohov stepped away from her and turned his wand on Harry. Harry shouted, "_Sectum_ – "

"_Protego_!" Dolohov screamed.

"Come on," Harry hissed, "Come closer to me."

Their wands flashed like lightning, and Hermione watched in horror as Dolohov drew closer and closer to Harry. Then, unexpectedly, Harry pulled back his fist and punched the Death Eater in the face. Dolohov stumbled, blood streaming from his nose, and Harry hit him again. And again. And kept going until Dolohov spun around and elbowed Harry in the stomach, making Harry double over. He pushed the tip of his wand to the back of Harry's head. Harry muttered something under his breath and Dolohov glowed in silver light for a moment. Hermione knew what the light meant, but she didn't think the Death Eater did.

"Come on," Harry whispered, "Come on. Kill me. Kill the great Harry Potter."

Hermione felt panic and fear claw at her insides. The spell was a highly complex, highly advanced magic-removal spell that had obviously taken its toll on Harry's energy. It meant that Dolohov now only had one spell left to cast, one spell only, before his wand would automatically snap in two. And if Dolohov killed Harry, he wouldn't be able to kill Hermione.

"No!" Hermione screamed, staggering to her feet, and drawing on the last bit of her strength, on the deepest core where her love lay, untouched like a fountain spring. "No, Harry! I won't let you die for me! I won't!"

She pointed her wand at Dolohov, and in that split-second in which Dolohov hesitated, wondering whether to kill Harry or not, she called upon the force she never knew she had.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

Dolohov slumped to the ground. Harry looked at her, his face white. He understood, of all people, what it took out of you to kill another human being. It was ten times worse when you were tired and on the brink of death already. Hermione felt her eyes swim and her heart soar as Harry came closer to her. She felt his arms around, that last time, as tears fell down her face and his face was wet too. He held her tightly, and she heard him beg:

"It'll be all right, Hermione, it'll be all right. Just hold on a little longer. Just a little longer."

She looked past him, out of the window. Somehow, the leaves had fallen quicker. The tree was utterly bare. She smiled faintly, and touched Harry's lips, looking into the green eyes she had always loved. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he sobbed.

Then she let her eyelids flutter closed.

…

…

TBC.

…


	12. Graveyard

**Disclaimer: **I don't own "Harry Potter" or anything recognizable connected to it.

**A/N: **I couldn't resist.

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**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Twelve: Graveyard**

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…

Harry sat in a corner of the black, rocking hearse as it made its unsteady way towards the cemetery. He couldn't take his eyes off a carefully covered form lying in a coffin, and his hand held onto a white, cold, stiff one as if he could never let go. Ron was on the other side of the hearse, staring out of the tiny window with tears tracking sallow paths down his face as if he would never stop crying. Harry wanted to cry too, like a baby, but he couldn't somehow.

It was like a dream. Like an awful, awful dream. To have Hermione back only for a few weeks, only to lose her again, was almost too much for any of them to bear, for him to bear. He looked down at the cold hand in his, and wished he could go back, turn back time, do anything to change this. Just so that he wouldn't have to enter that graveyard and watch her being buried deep in the earth, with nothing but a death she shouldn't have had to endure. She'd saved his life at the cost of her own twice. Only this time, it was more literal. And what had he ever done? He hadn't been able to save her. He hadn't even tried. He'd been too afraid.

When the hearse came to a jerky halt, and the doors opened onto bright, glaring sunlight, Harry and Ron mechanically got out. The sea of faces waiting in the cemetery made Harry blink, unable to detach one from another. Everyone in the magical world seemed to be here, it appeared.

"See, Hermione?" he whispered under his breath. "It's all for you!"

As they past a crowd of people Harry didn't recognize, one of them pushed forward and said, "Oh, Harry, can I have your autograph, please?"

Harry felt so angry and sick that he nearly hit the man who asked him that. Ron shoved the man away, uttered something filthy under his breath, and herded Harry with rough gentleness forward, after the coffin with its white, prone cargo. Harry found himself avoiding the eyes of the people he knew, trying to pretend this was all a dream and that he really wasn't here.

The coffin and the two young men reached the front of the crowd, where the grave had been dug and carefully neatened by loving hands. Harry caught a glimpse of Hagrid standing and sobbing nearby, and his nails had the tell-tale marks of dirt under them. Harry felt tears sting his eyes. So many people had loved her, and not one of those people had stuck by her when she had needed them to. So many people had loved her, and she'd loved them all, and after their betrayal, she'd found it in her heart to forgive them, to forgive even Harry.

"Harry," Ron whispered softly, "Mate, do you want to say something before the coffin's lowered? Or do you want Dumbledore to do it?"

Harry felt as if his head was swimming. "Er… I… Dumbledore can do it," he muttered.

He didn't trust himself to speak without breaking down.

Next thing he knew, Dumbledore, in his most elegant purple robes, was sweeping up to the front and cleared his throat, muttered, "_Sonorus_". For a second, his eyes locked with Harry's, and there was a wealth of tenderness and compassion and sorrow in his eyes, but also an eternal message of reassurance. 'Everything will be all right, Harry. You just have to find a little hope. And trust'.

Then Dumbledore began to speak…

"I'm standing here before you this morning," he said, "To pay my respects to one of the most brilliant and warm-hearted students I have ever had the pleasure of watching grow up and teaching. I'm here to talk about a young woman braver and stronger and kinder and indeed, more stubborn, than anyone else I have ever known. Let it be said, however, that her obstinacy was justified: she _was_ always right."

Harry choked back tears, and, blinking suddenly at Dumbledore standing in the golden-bright sunlight of the… winter… morning, on green grass, pressed rewind in his mind.

Sunlight? Green? _Dumbledore_?

"Trust, Harry," Dumbledore whispered in his ear again, "Trust and faith. It'll all be right."

Harry woke up with a start, soaked in a cold sweat.

He was shaking when he frantically felt around his bed, to make sure it was real and that _this_ was not a dream. Then he stumbled out of bed and raced down the hallway, down to Hermione's room, and he entered as quietly as he could in his state of disorientation and panic.

"She's alive?" he demanded of Lupin, "She didn't – you know – "

Lupin, taking a watch by Hermione's bedside, raised tired, worried eyes to Harry's. "She's alive, but just barely. She slips in and out of consciousness. Within another day, she might be well enough to sit up and talk and everything, but it won't last long. She's very sick, Harry. You have to act now."

Harry looked down at Hermione, sleeping quite peacefully, her pale face beaded with perspiration from a fever.

"Yes," he said quietly, searching for and finding that trust and courage, "I have to act now."

…

…

TBC.

…


	13. Female Psyche

**Disclaimer: **I don't own "Harry Potter" or anything associated with it that you recognize.

**A/N: **Sorry this chapter took so long to get up here, but I polished it up only this morning. I've been working on an original screenplay for the past few days.

Anyway, I got such fantastic reviews for the past three chapters (especially the last, particularly 'evil' one (lol!)) that I decided to go with my Plan B for this story, which is to extend it just a little more instead of ending it on Chapter 13. I don't know whether this will work or not, but with 107 favourites, I think this story is popular enough to be given a chance to run a complete length… enjoy!

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**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Thirteen: Female Psyche**

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It was perhaps two or three days later that Hermione got out of bed again. Harry reflected on the events of that morning with a mixture of amusement and horror. Ron, who was supposed to be beside her, had left her bedside for five minutes to go to the bathroom, and when he emerged out again, he found her bed empty.

Needless to say, Ron's reaction had been extreme.

He'd let out a shriek that had brought a sleeping Hagrid out of a nearby room, and then, completely ignoring Hagrid, he had thundered straight into the fireplace in the den, after having panicked Sirius's portrait all over again, and gone to the Burrow via Floo Powder.

In the space of ten minutes, Harry, who was just down the road buying cranberry sauce for Christmas pie, had been alerted; Lupin and Tonks had been alerted; Hagrid had informed Professors McGonagall and Slughorn (Snape had gone out of the country for a few days) at Hogwarts; and the entire Weasley family and a battalion of Order of the Phoenix Aurors (Kingsley, Podmore and Moody to name three) had all been dispatched to Number 12, Grimmauld Place for emergency duty. They had all collectively rounded up Luna, who appeared to be unmoved by the entire proceedings, and Neville, who was trying to learn about Snorckleback Plants from her, and had all hustled into the spacious kitchen of Harry's house in order to have an emergency meeting about what could have befallen Hermione…

Only to find Hermione standing at the stove of the kitchen and roasting a massive turkey, staring at them all as if they had gone completely mad to come bursting into the kitchen like that.

"What?" Ron spluttered. "How did you get _here_?"

"I… walked…" said Hermione dubiously, obviously feeling that she was missing something. "Um… is something wrong… with everyone?"

"You shouldn't be out of bed!" Harry managed to say, so relieved he had wanted to faint.

Hermione eyed him. "Well… I… er… just wanted to do something nice. It's Christmas, you know, so I wanted to, you know, roast a turkey." She brightened. "I think there ought to be enough for everyone here, though, so if Mrs. Weasley could help me a bit, we might be able to cook up a splendid lunch for us all!"

It hardly took a stretch of imagination to assume that Ron was not very popular that morning.

Two days later, Hermione looked like she was getting better, but her overall health was not improving. As Lupin sombrely informed Harry, he didn't think she was going to last many more weeks unless something was done. However, every time Harry attempted to broach the subject with Hermione, she avoided it like the plague and even came to the point where she seemed to be avoiding being alone with him. It only increased his despair and frustration.

"I don't get it!" he fumed that afternoon after Lupin's dire pronouncement (Hermione was safely out of earshot in the attic with Ginny, looking for some old books that had belonged to Sirius's family). The only ones in the room were Tonks, Lupin, Ron and George (who didn't look like he was paying much attention because he was trying to catch lacewing flies off the window curtain). Harry went on in frustration. "Look, I know she cares about me – for heaven's sake, she tried to save my life at such risk to her own! And while that shows very little regard for her own life, surely she wants to live! Why is she avoiding me? Why is she avoiding the subject that could very well save her?"

"Harry, old boy," said George from the window, rather absently, though it would appear that he was at least half-listening, "Maybe she's afraid to live."

"Merlin's beard, that's too deep for me," Ron said, thumping his head with his hand.

"You shock me," said Harry impatiently, turning back to George, "What on earth do you mean?"

George wasn't looking at them; he was focused on the lacewing flies, but he answered quite lucidly, and they were all listening intently. "I'm just saying, mate, that Ginny told me a couple days ago that she tried to impress upon Hermione that she's got to trust you if she wants to live. That in itself could imply that Hermione would rather die than trust you – "

"Thanks."

"Don't be ridiculous, George," said Lupin with a frown.

George chuckled. "Yeah, I didn't think that was it either, but I figured I ought to mention it anyway. Couldn't resist, you know. Aha! Caught one at last! No, what was I saying? Oh, yeah… well, Hermione's a smart girl, Harry, we all know that. She probably figured out, from what Ginny said, that the cure to her sickness involves a huge sacrifice on your part. Maybe she doesn't know or guess what it is, but she probably feels that she can't let you sacrifice anything for her. I just think she might feel that way if she really loves you, which no one doubts she does."

"You know," said Tonks excitedly, cutting Harry off before he could explode in disbelief and agitation, "I think George might actually have something there! Because, you know, Harry, seeing as how much she loves you, she would never be able to stomach the thought of your having to sacrifice any part of your life for her. Considering what you told me about the encounter with Dolohov, I'd say it makes perfect sense!"

"Does it?" growled Harry. "Then do elaborate, would you?"

"Don't you _see_?" said Tonks in the voice of one speaking to a very small and dull child, "Hermione cried out 'I won't let you die for me, Harry' and she killed him before he could hurt you, knowing fully well that she could be killed in the process. Remus says it was a miracle she survived. So I'm just saying that Hermione probably feels that if you and she… you know… get together again, which you would undoubtedly do if you saved her life, then she would never be able to live with herself because you might risk yourself for her again. Do you understand what I'm saying? Hermione probably feels that she would rather die than see you hurt on her account. In any way."

Harry exploded. "But – but that's ridiculous!"

"You've got to take into account that the whole betrayal thing three years ago damaged her emotionally and has made her very scared of trusting you, and of letting you down again," Tonks said with an air of wisdom.

Ron stared at Tonks with fascination and curiosity. "You're almost as good as Hermione is!"

"Woman's prerogative," said Tonks, winking.

"I don't believe this," said Harry grimly, "I mean, what? Does the woman want blood on a scroll? A Christmas present with my heart in it? What more can I do to make her see that I would never hurt her again? You know what? Forget that! If I understand you right, that's not even the problem! Now she's afraid of losing me because she thinks I would risk myself for her under any circumstances!"

"Wouldn't you?" said Lupin shrewdly.

"Well, yes, but – "

"So she's afraid of getting involved with you, of letting you love her, of letting herself love you," said Tonks triumphantly. "It's quite understandable. I know I'd feel that way if Remus was constantly throwing his life on the line to save mine. You ought to be flattered, Harry. She values your life more than hers."

Harry sank down into the chair and buried his face in his hands. "But my life means nothing if I don't have her, if she isn't around. I can't watch her die. I can't."

"Very noble of you," said George, catching another lacewing fly, "If only she was as moved as I am by that declaration."

"Oh, go do something useful," Ron said to his brother, "You're not exactly helping."

"I'll be off in a few minutes, Ronniekins, not to worry."

Lupin put a reassuring hand on Harry's arm. "Harry, don't give up. You know that's the one thing you mustn't do. We'll save her. There has to be a way to make Hermione understand that her love and yours matter more than your individual lives. Because love _is_ life, Harry. Hermione's been so long without it, being afraid of being hurt by it, that she's forgotten that. You can't blame her for that."

"But what can I _do_? I mean, the woman keeps finding new excuses for us to be apart!"

Tonks' eyes suddenly lit up (literally; they turned golden) and Harry and Ron exchanged wary looks at the sight of this familiar phenomenon, which usually spelled imminent disaster. "I know what you ought to do, Harry! See, our goal is to make Hermione realize that she cares more about loving you than about hurting you, or being hurt by you. So you've got to make her realize that she _wants_ to live just so that she can have you!"

"And how," demanded Harry, "Do you make someone realize that they want you enough to want to live in spite of all their hang-ups?"

"Well, you've got to make her see that she _can't_ have you!"

There was absolute silence in the kitchen for a moment. The men were gaping at Tonks. Even George let a lacewing fly slip through his grasp and turned right around to look at her in amazement. After a long while, apparently perceiving that not one of them were able to react to such a statement, Tonks began to explain:

"_Jealousy_, Harry! You've got to bring another woman home and flirt with her, and make sure Hermione sees you."

"That's madness!" George yelped. "Why, it'll only make her more depressed."

"Au contraire, my dear George. It'll motivate her to fight for Harry! You boys don't understand the female psyche; I, as a woman, do! There's nothing quite like jealousy to make a woman realize the truth about their own feelings and Hermione, as we all know, has a talent for jealousy. The moment Hermione sees you showing interest in somebody else, she'll realize that she wants to live so that you and she can love each other and Other Woman can be kicked out of the picture."

"This is beginning to sound like a soap opera," Ron remarked.

"Not at all," said Tonks briskly, "It's just a quick and effective remedy. Besides, we could all use some cheering up, Hermione included. A small dinner party might be just the thing. Provides the stage for your flirting, too. Nothing excessive, mind you, Harry. Just suggestions of interest. No kissing or cuddling."

"Don't worry," said Harry fervently, still feeling a little dazed. "I seem to recall Hermione feeling very hurt and betrayed after Ron here started making out with Lavender Brown in our sixth year. No way am I going down that road, I don't want to hurt her. Do you really think this will work?"

"Absolutely," Tonks told him confidently, "She'll see you with another girl and she'll realize how much she hates the thought of you with someone else. Trust me, Harry. Women are very easy to understand when you try hard enough."

But on this last bit, none of the occupants of the kitchen were able to agree with her.

…

…

…

"What does he mean, a dinner party?" Hermione demanded, looking surprised as she stared at Professor McGonagall. "Harry's having a dinner party here? Tonight?"

"Apparently, he wants to have a youthful Christmas celebration," Professor McGonagall said with a voice that suggested she was torn between amusement and disapproval. "I just came to check on you, Hermione, and ask whether you feel you would be up to such high spirits? I don't mean to be harsh, but you're not exactly at your best."

Hermione laughed a little. "I know," she said, "I understand I don't have much longer left. I suppose I can appreciate that Harry's trying to make my last few weeks as pleasant and normal as he possibly can. It must be difficult for him, you know. We've known each other so long, it can't be easy to say goodbye to a… a friend." She stared off into the distance for a little while, and then said, "I want to thank you for everything you've done for me, Professor. You made my years at Hogwarts a reason to be proud of myself. You challenged me and made sure I rose to them, and I'm grateful for that."

When Professor McGonagall left the den, she was blowing her nose violently.

"You've got some nerve, you know," Sirius's voice said from behind Hermione, sounding part-angry and part-confused and part-amused in a Marauder kind of way.

Hermione turned towards him. Sirius was leaning against his portrait frame, arms crossed over his chest. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"'It must be difficult for him, you know. We've known each other so long. It can't be easy to say goodbye to a friend'." Sirius's mimicry was perfect. "A _friend_, Hermione? Lord, what's the matter with you? A friend? That's the level you've assigned Harry's feelings for you? Has it ever occurred to you that my godson would die for you?"

"Yes!" snapped Hermione, tears welling up in her eyes. "It has occurred to me, Sirius, and you know what? I'd rather pretend it isn't true, because it hurts me so much every time I think of Harry giving something up for me!"

Sirius's indignant face softened, and his grey eyes peered into hers. "Hermione, give yourself a chance."

"I'm not worth it, Sirius. And you know what? I'm not sure I'm capable of giving everything I have to him again. I gave it once and he threw it to the floor. I won't forget how much I hurt him, and how much he hurt me. What if that happens again? What if it happens again and we don't escape with our lives then? There are so many what ifs and I've lived so long along with my mind that it's hard to let my heart speak anymore!"

For a long time, Sirius stared at her, as if startled by this outburst. There was compassion in his stare and he smiled faintly as if he would have liked to hug her, but obviously couldn't. "I guess it's up to you to choose then," he said quietly, "Whether this time, you're going to go with your head or your heart. Maybe… maybe you just need someone to make you listen to your heart."

"Fat chance they'll have," Hermione said bitterly. Then she smiled. "I'm going to go upstairs, get ready for this dinner party thing. I'm tired of feeling so sick and weak."

"That's my girl. Go on and have some fun."

"I just hope I don't faint. I don't want to ruin this for everyone."

Sirius looked at her. She was pale and slightly wan, but still pretty. Yet her sickness was written all over her. Hermione wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he _see_ anything? She felt a pang of sadness as she remembered Sirius was dead… as a portrait, how much did he really have to offer those who were living? Did he feel as he once did? There was so much mystery to magic. So much mystery to the human heart. How did a man in a painting look at her with so much compassion? She gave him a smile, and he grinned back. "Hey," he said, "You ever thought of thinking of yourself for a change?"

Hermione looked startled, as if this was an unfamiliar thought.

She went upstairs, and searched through her closet for something decent to wear. She found herself thinking "pretty" even though it was ridiculous to actually care what Harry thought of her clothes. Nonetheless, when she pulled out a fitted blue dress she hadn't worn in ages, she realized it was for Harry.

She had a quick bath and came back into her room with a towel wrapped around her. She wriggled into underwear. The room was very hot suddenly, and she felt like her head was spinning.

'No,' she thought. 'Oh, God, no.'

The world went dark and blurry as she sank weakly to the ground, and lay slumped face forward on the carpet. The room became cold again, as if a biting wind was coming in, and she shivered rather uncontrollably, wearing nothing but underwear. She tried to get up, but found that she didn't have the strength to. A wave of hatred and bitterness passed over her. She hated Dolohov. She hated herself. She hated Harry, Ron and all the others for putting her here. They'd left her for three years with nothing but hate and bitterness. What did they want from her now?

But as soon as those traitorous thoughts entered her mind, they disappeared again, and she felt foolish and ashamed of herself. She still hated Dolohov, though, and she wasn't so fond of herself, lying there so weak and helpless. Nothing could be worse that dying now, when friends were arriving downstairs.

She was still lying there, pale and cold, when George found her five minutes later.

George had been sent up by Ron, who was busy looking for Luna, to see whether Hermione was going to come down. Alarmed by the fact that Hermione hadn't responded to his persistent knocking at her door, George had magically opened the door and marched in.

He uttered a foul word, and hurried to her side.

"Hermione! Hermione, look at me!"

He helped her up. Hermione stared at him and thanked him gratefully, then blushed crimson because she was half-naked. George didn't even blink. He helped her onto her bed, and helped her put her dress on.

"Maybe you shouldn't come downstairs to this stupid thing," he muttered.

"No, I want to."

"Fine," he chuckled, "Don't blame me later if you regret it!"

Hermione thought there was something very mysterious in his voice, but she didn't question it. Instead, she brushed out her hair. George stood like a vigilant bodyguard, leaning against the wall and twirling his wand between two fingers. She felt tears sting her eyes and she looked at him pleadingly before they left the room. "George, please don't tell Harry you found me like that."

He looked angry. "Do you want to die, Hermione? Because you will if you don't let Harry in!"

Hermione immediately felt herself shut off. She swallowed. "It's not your concern, George. Just please don't tell Harry. Do it for me, as a friend."

"I like that! You tell me it's not my concern that you may die, and then tell me to do you a favour as a friend! Here's something that may shock you, Hermione: it is my concern. It concerns every single one of us, from Fred to Mum to bloody Sturgis Podmore. These are people who care about you and care about Harry. You want to let them all down, let Harry down, but pricing your life so cheap? Fine, do it if you want. But that makes you a hypocrite because you once left us _because_ we made the mistake of pricing your life cheaply!"

George, rather red in the face, his usual mischievous twinkle nowhere in sight, turned and marched away stiffly. Hermione watched him go, shaken to the very core. She had never seen George like that. She had never before realized what it would do to these people who cared, to Harry, if she was to give up.

'Listen to your heart, Hermione.'

If only her heart would whisper loud enough for her to hear what it wanted to say.

She squared her shoulders, forcing herself to stay strong and not crumble under the weight of everything that had ever hurt her or happened to her, and she walked down the stairs to where everyone was hanging about in the kitchen, den, and living room.

Fortunately, nobody reacted violently to her sudden appearance. People greeted her cheerfully when they saw her, and told her how glad they were that she was better. Hermione could tell they meant it. Neville handed her his untouched bottle of Butterbeer, ignoring her protests, and headed off to get another one for himself. Fred came up to her and, grinning, told her not to feel bad about what George might have said. Parvati told her that she was extremely impressed by the story of what happened with Dolohov. She said, quite bluntly, that it was incredible that someone so physically weakened by an awful illness could have produced such great magic. Hermione was very flattered.

Harry met her somewhere in the middle of the den, when Hermione went over to talk to Tonks and ask her about the baby's progress, and kissed her on the cheek, gave her a reassuring grin, and, to her amazement and slight annoyance, disappeared again almost immediately.

"Where's _he_ going in such a hurry?" she asked no one in particular, a little irritated.

Tonks was grinning, but she hastily covered this up when Hermione looked back at her, and she said, with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes that puzzled the other girl, "Oh, you know, I think he wanted to go and greet Pansy Parkinson."

Hermione almost dropped her bottle of Butterbeer. "What? Since when are they friends?"

"Don't snap at me, Hermione. Pansy is rather pretty, and most of us may find her intolerable, but she did help us by providing information during the war, so I think Harry thought it was only decent to invite her tonight."

"But she's a malicious, spiteful, snobby little cat!"

"Maybe," said Tonks wisely, with an absolute air of understanding, "But she is rather pretty. And it's not just me, so don't look so incredulous. Harry agrees."

"Oh, does he?" said Hermione, feeling a bubble of indignant anger, her eyes flashing dangerously. "We'll see! Can you excuse me for a few minutes? I'll catch up with you a little later." She turned and stalked off, moving much like the Hermione of prior years.

Tonks began to laugh as soon as Hermione was out of earshot. Lupin, one of the oldest members at the party, was standing nearby and talking to Seamus. He came over when he heard Tonks laugh, and bent and kissed her. Tonks grinned up at him.

"It's working already!"

In the meanwhile, Hermione had marched out of the den and into the living room. She caught sight of Harry and Pansy Parkinson across the room, and was about to march across and demand to speak to Harry in private when she suddenly saw what he was doing. He was helping Pansy off with her coat. Hermione was furious. It was like… like… like if she were to buy Malfoy a drink! Pansy – ("that cow", thought Hermione viciously) – obviously flattered by Harry's attention, was batting her eyelashes and flirting blatantly. Harry's smile was a little forced as he laughed and chatted with her, but Hermione only noticed how much appreciative attention he was giving her.

Ron was close by, mixing himself a Butterbeer with a shot of Firewhiskey at the bar table in the corner. Hermione pushed past Terry and Ginny, who were watching Harry and Pansy in open disbelief, and stormed towards Ron and seized him by the sleeve. Ron spat out a bit of his new drink and looked at her.

"Aargh! What's the matter, Hermione?" he asked, looking baffled.

"Would you just _look_ at Harry and that concussed troll Pansy Parkinson!" she fumed.

Ron looked at her in fascination, as if he was amazed by something, and then looked over at Harry and Pansy. Hermione could have sworn that Ron was fighting a mixture of amusement and disgust, but when Ron looked at her, he only shrugged and looked awkward. "Well, I guess he's just trying to make her feel welcome. Not many people like her."

"For good reason!"

"I agree with you, Hermione," he said hastily, obviously reading the danger signals, "But, Harry's a gentleman that way, you know."

"Gentleman! Hah!"

Hermione stormed away, and Ron stared after her, looking both anxious as well as amused. He was cornered by Ginny and Terry almost instantly, both of whom demanded to know what the devil Harry thought he was doing flirting with some Slytherin snob when Hermione was in the same room. Ron spent the next ten minutes defended his "cavalier" best friend, while wondering where his other best friend had disappeared to.

Hermione had, in fact, blazed through the den again towards the kitchen, which was the least crowded of the rooms. She passed Sirius's portrait on the way, and paused only to snap, "Your godson is a swine!" before marching past and entering the kitchen.

She stood near the window and watched the snow falling, wishing it would cool her down. She felt hot and bothered, but for some reason, she no longer felt sick. She felt rather like her old self, hot-tempered and angry and absolutely irritated with Harry for being such a moronic buffoon. She heard a sound near the door, and watched Harry approach her through a bunch of people. He reached for the fridge beside her, and pulled out a bottle of cola.

"Hi," he said, "You doing okay?"

Hermione eyed the cola with misgiving. "Who's _that_ for?"

Harry seemed to hesitate, and then he said quite casually, "For Pansy Parkinson, she wanted – "

"Oh, so now you're at her beck and call?"

"Now, Hermione," Harry said, looking startled, "Don't get worked up. I know you don't like her much, but the least we can do is be friendly once in a while after everything she offered us during the war. I'm just being friendly to someone who has very few friends."

"Friendly? Friendly? That's hilarious, Harry, it really is."

He peered at her. "Are you… jealous?"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself!" she snapped.

"Look, why don't you sit somewhere and calm down? Really, I'm just trying to be nice, that's all. I'll go give her this cola and then I'll come back and we'll talk, all right?"

Hermione glowered at him. "Please don't on my account."

Harry frowned slightly. "All right. Suit yourself."

He turned and made for the door. About halfway there, he stopped short in his tracks. Hermione caught sight of the person that made him freeze and she stared incredulously. A few other people in the room buzzed interestedly.

"Herm-own-ninny!" a voice yelled happily from the doorway of the kitchen.

Hermione looked at Harry's stupefied face, and then began to smile broadly. "Viktor!"

Harry nearly exploded in anger and disbelief.

…

…

TBC.

…


	14. Feel My Heart

**Disclaimer: **I don't own "Harry Potter" or anything associated with it that you recognize.

**A/N: **I have my History A-level exam tomorrow, so it might be another week before Chapter 15 appears up here! Enjoy this one!

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…

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Fourteen: Feel My Heart**

…

…

It was fortunate that Tonks was pregnant. Otherwise, as she later informed Fred and George with gleeful enjoyment, Harry would undoubtedly have killed her.

"Krum?" he shouted at her, the instant he could get her alone. "KRUM?"

"Oooh… where?" said Tonks, delighted.

"TONKS!"

"I'm sorry, Harry, but don't you think you're going a bit off the edge? After all, what's the matter with the poor young man visiting to see an old friend? After all, last he heard, Hermione had disappeared. You can't blame him for being friendly…"

Harry glowered at her. "Friendly? _Friendly _– ?" He stopped abruptly at the look of unholy mischief in Tonks's eyes, and he realized what he was saying. He let out a growl. "So you're trying to tell me that because I was out to make Hermione jealous with that ridiculous brat Pansy Parkinson, she's now going to step on my toes with Viktor Krum? But that's ridiculous."

"Well, you can't deny Hermione does have a habit of retaliating that way when someone attempts to make her jealous. She's very skilful."

Harry glared. "How long is this supposed to go on?"

"Well, it depends. You could wait until they're curled up on a sofa, kissing their hearts out…"

With a growl of anger, Harry turned and strode away, not bothering to apologize when he bumped into Parvati. Tonks watched him go, then collapsed into helpless giggles. Lupin approached her and gave her a very disapproving look. "Has it occurred to you, Tonks, that what seems to be causing you so much amusement is in reality a tussle between two very battered hearts, and that someone's life actually hangs in the balance?"

Tonks sobered. "I almost forgot about that for a moment. But you do realize she'll never fight to live until she decides to fight for Harry, don't you? This is all a good sign."

"All I'm saying," said Lupin with a sigh, "Is that I have no desire to see either of them hurt again."

"Hear, hear," called out Sirius from the wall.

A moment or two later, Hermione was just glancing around to see where Harry was (and whether he could see her smiling rapturously at Viktor) when she felt a fierce hand on her shoulder. She turned to find herself looking into those familiar green eyes, blazing with something indefinable. Hermione almost wanted to laugh. After making a fool of himself with Pansy Parkinson, now he had the nerve to be jealous?

"Can I have a word?" Harry asked her through somewhat gritted teeth.

Hermione reached for her Butterbeer, took a fortifying gulp, and then dragged herself out of her armchair. Her legs felt a little wobbly, and she felt the sudden frighteningly dizzy sensation. "Harry," she said quite calmly, trying not to let anyone see how wan and weak she felt, "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?"

"It'll only take a minute."

Krum looked between them, and then stuck out a hand. "Potter," he said in a friendly voice.

"Krum," said Harry coldly, shaking the hand briefly. He then felt slightly guilty. Krum, after all, wasn't the bad guy here, and could he really blame him for his obvious infatuation with Hermione? So he made a determined effort to be friendlier. "We're all glad to see you. Are you in town for long?"

"I vos in town for a match," Krum replied, his accent as strong as ever, "And ven I heard that Herm-own-ninny vos here, I thought I'd come to see her. I didn't intent to intrude upon your dinner party here."

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Harry hastily, "Everyone's always welcome."

Hermione, watching them, felt mildly baffled by the male friendliness. She cleared her throat slightly, aware that if she had to stand around in a hot room much longer, she would surely have a breakdown, and said gently, "Do you think you could give me a moment, Viktor, so that I can just talk to Harry?"

"I vill be leaving now, actually, Herm-own-ninny," he told her, "I must return because I have an early flight home tomorrow." He took her hand and kissed it. "It has been wonderful to see you again. And a pleasure to see you, as alvays, Potter." He nodded, and then slouched his way out of the room, making his way through people who stared at him avidly (as if there weren't enough celebrities in the room) and then pausing to exchange a smile and a few words with Ron, who nearly tripped over his feet to speak to him.

Hermione looked at Harry, and saw that his angry expression had softened slightly, as if he was thinking about something, and wondered if he, like her, was thinking back to their fourth year at Hogwarts, and how suspicious Krum had been of their friendship. This had been closely followed by Cho Chang's jealousy as well. Hermione wondered why it had taken her so long to guess that both Krum and Cho might have seen something that no one else had noticed. She hastily brushed away a tear that slipped out onto her cheek. Those days were long gone. It was futile to think back and wish that they could have that kind of youthful spirit and optimism and happiness again. After all, what were they now? Broken soldiers still struggling with the dawn after the long night of battle. Harry, his heart bruised and his mind battered. And she was… dying.

At that moment, Harry turned around and looked at her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. What did you want to talk about?"

"Not here," he said, glancing around at the relatively full room, "Let's go upstairs. Besides, you look tired, and I'm afraid I can't let you hang around here and collapse on me."

She was inclined to be indignant at his high-handed attitude, but didn't have time, for the next moment, Harry had scooped her up into his arms and was marching out of the kitchen towards the stairs. People stared and Hermione burned bright red in embarrassment. Tonks started laughing and, for some reason, yelled "I told you so" to Harry. Fred and George let out identical wolf-whistles, and Ron had the temerity to grin. Hermione glared at him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that the situation was NOT what he thought.

Harry seemed impervious to the reactions from the crowd. He carried her up the stairs, for which she was secretly grateful, because there was nothing more comforting than to be in his arms when she felt so awfully sick, and he took her to her room. There he set her down gently, and shut the door behind them.

"Look," he said quickly, as if afraid he would lose his nerve if he didn't say it fast, "Tonks's plan was a good one. Hey, it worked. But I'm not a game-player, and I can't do this. Do you know what it felt like to see you with Krum again? Hermione, I don't care about your scruples or what you're worried about. I'm not going to spend another few years without you. I won't survive it the second time, and quite frankly, I don't want to. You think my life means anything without you? I love you, I've told you that, and if you can't trust me enough to live, then there's nothing more I can do. But I can look at you now and ask you whether you love me so little that you wouldn't be willing to face whatever we might have to in exchange for what we can have together."

Hermione stared at him, tears filling her eyes. She'd never heard him sound quite like this, so desperate, so implacable, and so determined. No… perhaps she had. Because that was Harry all over, wasn't it? When he wanted something, he refused to let anything stop him before he reached that finish post. He fought for what he believed in with that desperation, he always had, right from the time of the young boy who marched into a room all alone just to make sure Voldemort never got the Philosopher's Stone.

"I hurt you once," she told him softly, "More than we could have imagined. Can you deny that? I don't want to do that to you again, Harry. You may know what you want, but I don't. I don't know if I'm strong enough to face a life with you, knowing broken hearts may lie along the road again, and pain, and death. I don't know if I can do it again."

"You're stronger than anybody I know. You always have been!"

"Harry," she said softly, "Come here."

He approached her, watching her carefully. She took his hand, and held it to her heart. "Can you feel my heart?" she asked. "It doesn't beat very hard or very fast, does it? I don't know if it can anymore, Harry. Listen to it. Does that sound like a strong heart to you? I'm not the person I once was. Dolohov, the years away, the pain, it changed me, more fundamentally than in my very personality. Take it literally, metaphorically, any way you like: it's a bruised, struggling heart in there, fighting for the last gulps of air, and I can't make it fight any harder. I don't know if I want to."

"It's beating pretty fast right now," he said slowly, the tears in his eyes a contrast to the sudden puzzled frown between his eyebrows.

Hermione took a step back from him. "Well, that's because… your hand is there," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. Then she swallowed as she caught the look in his eyes. "No, Harry, don't look at me like that. How can you possibly?"

"You're still beautiful to me," he said, and he kissed her.

Hermione fought the kiss for all of three seconds, and then kissed him back. He pulled away after a moment, and looked stricken. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have – I can't – "

"Yes, you can," she said softly, unbuttoning his shirt, "You know you want to."

"But you're – "

"It won't kill me, Harry," she told him gently, "I promise."

He swallowed, and gave in.

…

…

…

Hermione lay awake hours later, and watched Harry sleeping. For the first time, he looked peaceful as he slept, as if there was some hope left in the world. She brushed black hair off his forehead, and wondered whether it was possible to feel so much pleasure and pain at the sight of someone she loved so much. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slowly got out of bed, exhausted but filled with a sudden desperate determination that gave her the energy she had previously lacked.

She slipped on a robe over her pyjamas and tank top, and left the room quietly. She went downstairs as silently as she could, and noted with approval that Ron (or rather, Ginny and Luna) had taken care of cleaning up after they'd vanished earlier.

The house was strangely quiet, and she made her way past Sirius, sleeping in his portrait frame, to the large wooden cupboard in the corner. It was the Vanishing Cabinet that Malfoy had had fixed in their sixth year in order to perpetrate that horrifying attack on Hogwarts. After the battle, Hermione had been told that they'd tracked down both Cabinets and kept them safely had Hogwarts. After Hermione and Harry's first visit to the school since Hermione had returned, Professor McGonagall and decided that the best idea would be to place one Cabinet in Number 12, and leave the other locked in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione now entered the Cabinet and shut the door behind her. With the sound of the latch clicking, the magic came into play, and she felt the world shifting around her. A few moments later, she reached for the doorknob, and found it locked. She used her wand to unlock it, and stepped out into the warmly-lit Room of Requirement at Hogwarts.

It took only a few seconds for Hermione to find exactly what she required. There was a portrait of a duck on the wall, and a pile of soft beanbags in the middle of a room. Several feet away from the beanbags stood the beautiful Mirror of Erised.

Hermione sat down on the beanbags, and looked into the mirror. At first, she saw only her reflection. Then, after a wary look around her, when she looked back into the mirror, she froze. Harry stood there, staring back at her. But it was not the Harry she had left behind, the thin and pale and worried Harry. This was a Harry who grinned at her, and then began to laugh. This was a Harry who looked young again… who looked happy. He raised a hand and waved at her. Hermione, without realizing it, waved back, and then realized tears were sliding down her face.

"Good evening, Hermione," said a deep voice from nearby.

Hermione turned sharply, trying to hastily brush away the tears as well, and found herself being looked at affectionately by Albus Dumbledore, who looked at her out of the painting of the duck.

"Professor!" she squeaked. "I didn't – how did you – "

"It is a privilege of former Headmasters," he said with a twinkle, "To be able to move around to any painting in the castle whenever they choose."

"Oh."

"You're not happy, Hermione," said Dumbledore, "And that grieves me. After the sacrifices you and Harry have made, I would have thought that happiness would have come to you, who deserve it most. Alas, I was too optimistic. But you know how to attain that happiness, don't you?"

"I… I can't risk it," she said sadly, but there was a note of uncertainty in her voice, she realized, that had never been there before.

"Hermione, for the past two or three weeks, you have been holding onto a thread of selfishness that is very unlike you, but, of course, perfectly understandable. You have convinced yourself that you fear, more than anything else, to be hurt again and that you would choose death over watching Harry sacrifice himself for you. That, I will say quite bluntly, is ridiculous. If Harry wants to die for you, by all means, let him! He's no fool, as you well know, and he might make rash decisions but he has rarely been so wrong as to allow himself to be killed."

"But…"

"I will not presume to preach. I will merely tell you that I believe in one thing above all else, and one thing alone: that love conquers everything."

"It didn't," Hermione said, choking back a sob, "He forgot that I loved him when he sent me away."

"You took the risk that Harry would never forgive you when you undertook that difficult task. Your love for him allowed you to take that risk. And now, three and a half years later, Harry has forgiven you and you him. Now, all you have left to do is ask yourself whether you love him enough to trust him again?"

Hermione stared into Dumbledore's hypnotic, earnest blue eyes. He said gently, "Do you remember, in your fifth year, I brought you into my office to tell you that Harry planned on running away because he had sunk into horror and depression? I knew then, as I know now, that only you could save him from his own misery, and I was right – he faced the world again, because you made him. Who knows how long he might have stayed locked in Buckbeak's room had it not been for you? In all the years I have known you both, it has been to you that Harry has turned when he has needed somebody. Even when he dated Miss Weasley. He turned his back on her for a noble reason, to protect her, but he couldn't do the same to you and Mr Weasley.

"Once again, Harry needs you, and _you need him_! How much clearer can the world be than when you look at it through the Mirror before you? Your happiness is not what matters most to you, as the Mirror shows. What it shows you is that Harry's happiness is what is most important, and you can make him laugh like that again. You can bring the light back to his eyes, and you know it. What are we, Hermione, if we cannot love and be loved?"

Hermione stood up. "I've been selfish and cowardly," she said, brushing away tears. "You're right, Professor. You're absolutely right. But… now I don't know what I must do."

"Follow your heart," said Dumbledore, twinkling at her, "I'm sure you'll find it's… ahem… beating fast enough again to point the way."

Dumbledore strolled out of the painting, whistling cheerfully. And Hermione, startled, cast one last look into the Mirror of Erised, and was left to wonder for about the millionth time how, even in death, Albus Dumbledore always seemed to know _everything_.

…

…

TBC.

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	15. A Death Breath

**Disclaimer: **I don't own "Harry Potter" or anything associated with it that you recognize.

**A/N: **Chapter Fifteen! Thanks for all the reviews so far… 330! I got about a third of this number for "Road to Redemption", which was my 'highest-grossing' fanfic before! By all means, keep this up and don't let me stop you. :)

* * *

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**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Fifteen: A Death Breath**

Harry woke up to find the bed empty next to him. His first reaction was panic, followed by his forcing himself to calm down and think rationally. Hermione had probably woken and gone down for water or milk ("the idiot," he thought, "she could have fainted or fallen"). He was about to throw on a shirt over his pants and bare feet, when he stopped. Hermione wouldn't appreciate being coddled and treated like she was dying. Dying. There was that haunting word again. Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. He couldn't bear this. He wished she'd come back quickly so that they could talk.

He reached towards the bedside table and picked up his wand. Holly and phoenix feather. A great wand, by any standard, and one that had stood him in good stead during years of danger and probable death. How many times had this wand saved his life? How many times had he felt alone and naked without it, as if he had lost a friend? Could he give up this wand?

For her, he could.

Without question, it would be one of the most difficult things he would ever have to do, but for Hermione, he would brave the fiercest lions and snakes and even lock away his wand. He rolled the notched, roughened piece of wood in his fingers, and then gently laid it back on the table. Before he had discovered the magical world he belonged in, he had been lost and alone. Before he had come to know Hermione and Ron, he had been lost and alone.

Hagrid had once told them that he'd thought they would value their friend more than broomsticks or rats. Damned right they should have. In fact, Harry wasn't sure they didn't. He knew that he cared more about her than about his Firebolt, about his wand. And yet, he reflected, to give up your wand was to give up the world that had brought him to life.

The image of Hermione lying pale and sick and alone in that bed up north made him feel nauseous. He rubbed his fingers through his black hair and wished he could drown himself. His life had been one hard choice after another, and one moment of hurting someone he cared about after another. How many people had he lost to his war, how many people he cared about and loved? His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, and all those who had fallen in a war when they ought to have been living long and happy lives. The silent soldiers lying sleeping in the earth. Harry blinked away tears. He couldn't bear to think of Hermione becoming just another silent soldier.

He stood up, dimly aware that she was taking an awful long time downstairs. He felt a surge of guilt. Maybe she was tired and had fallen asleep downstairs, wanting to be alone. He hadn't exactly been merciful, not that she'd shown any sign of wanting him to be. It had been incredible.

And now he felt guilty about it.

"You've been a naughty boy, haven't you, Potter?" a voice snickered from the empty portrait frame on the wall.

Harry didn't look up, though he felt a twinge of embarrassment. It was difficult to remember, even after years in the magical world, that paintings could sometimes witness the things you did. When they'd moved back into Number 12 four years before, Harry had taken Sirius's old room and Hermione had moved into the one he'd used before. The empty portrait frame was on that room wall.

"Go away," Harry said dully.

"Come now, Potter, is that the way to address an old Headmaster of your hallowed school?" Phineas Nigellus chortled at him mockingly. "Now don't flatter yourself that I actually watched anything, but I heard a noise or two when I popped in briefly earlier, and I bolted at once, all the while thinking, 'Oh, Dumbledore must be turning in grave at the antics his favourite boy's upto'!"

Harry snorted bitterly. "Dumbledore is probably the only dead Headmaster among you lot who's probably chuckling gleefully to himself, so go try another tack to annoy me, why don't you? Really. I'd like an excuse to use my wand on you."

"Potter, Potter, you old rotter."

"Picking up rhymes from Peeves, I see. Go away, Phineas. I don't have time for this. Oh, by the way, we're going to be destroying this painting. McGonagall's got a much better way of sending messages to us quickly, and a damn sight more efficiently."

Phineas made a disgusted, mocking sound, and then there was an empty silence. Harry felt bleak and hollow and strangely unhappy again. He shouldn't have been so unhappy, after all, what had just happened between Hermione and him ought to imply they had a chance together. But he knew Hermione all too well, unfortunately, and it would be just like her to come up with something new to keep them apart.

Where was she, anyway? Might as well get the pain and rejection over with. Harry's mouth twisted a little bitterly.

Harry moved to the bedside drawer to find a flashlight. Hermione always kept one, in case her wand was ever stolen and she couldn't use "Lumos" as she always did. Like the rest of them, they'd gotten into the habits of always planning for any possible contingency. They'd practiced it hard during that last year of challenging Voldemort. Moody had forced them to start learning Muggle tricks (well, Ron had had to do the real learning) in order to deal with having no magic temporarily. Right then, Harry couldn't have explained why he thought to use a flashlight instead of picking his wand up off the table again. He just did.

As he reached for the flashlight, his eyes fell on a piece of paper tucked into the corner of the drawer. He didn't mean to snoop, he really didn't, but it was too much to ignore when his eyes caught the title briefly.

**_Death Breath_**.

A mocking, bitter, lonely, sad title. The impact of those simple words made Harry's lungs suddenly feel empty. He swallowed and reached for the paper, forgetting the flashlight. He smoothed it out, hands shaking a little, and read what Hermione had written in sharp, tired handwriting.

_Empty beds, empty hearts._

_Lie awake and breathe_

_Try to, anyway._

_Will you wake me before it gets dark?_

_Find me?_

_The leaves are falling, _

_One by one._

_Life ebbs with it._

_How long can you hold on,_

_Dying?_

_Choking on your own blood,_

_The sweet metallic tangy taste,_

_Tongue suffocated by it._

_How long? Answer me._

_Weak, am I? I laugh in scorn at you._

_You couldn't last a second more._

_Dizzy_

_With pain. Exhilarating._

_Frightening. Hold me. I'm so scared._

_Empty air, arm grasps at nothing._

_Hands claw, searching._

_Scrape. Claw. Scrape._

_Nothing._

_Fine, I don't care. I've lived without you._

_I'll die without you too._

_Live alone. Die alone. Way of the world, right?_

_In and out. Fragmented consciousness._

_You can only hold on so long._

_Fingers brittle -_

_They break._

_Don't ask me to hold on with broken fingers._

_Let me go. Let me sleep…_

_Goodnight, darling._

_I'll see you when your day's over too._

Harry was frozen in shock as he stared down at the paper. The moods in the words, changing with every line it seemed, frightened him beyond belief. There was so much pain, so much bitterness, so much regret and weariness, so much hate, and so, so much love…

"Hermione," he whispered brokenly, "What have I done to you?"

At that moment, he heard footsteps outside the room, soft. He stiffened. The door opened, and Hermione came in and shut the door. She looked surprised to see him awake and standing beside the bed. Her eyes, full of something strange, suddenly darkened as they went from him to the piece of paper in his hand.

"Taken to snooping, Harry?" she asked coolly, full of the typically Hermione dignity.

"It was a catchy title," he answered bitterly, "Besides, you've always agreed I'm too curious for my own good sometimes."

"Haven't you realized before what the consequences of your curiosity can do?"

Harry stared at her. "That was low. You think you're the only one who's been hurt, Hermione? That we should all pity you and feel sorry for you? What about me? Did you ever stop to think about how much it's hurt me, how much pain I've known, ever since I was born! You had a family, you had a good life. I had precious few chances at that! So you know what? Don't stand there lecturing me about my curiosity. You think I need reminding that it was my curiosity that got Sirius killed? Do you?"

"Stop, Harry, stop," she begged, looking tearful and remorseful, "You know I didn't mean it. I was just angry… just… you think I don't think every single day about what you must have endured all your life? Oh, Harry. When did we become this pair of broken people standing across a room and fighting like angry cats?"

"I guess a lot of things have changed," said Harry sadly, quieting down. He knew she hadn't meant it, yet it had stung, and he felt a sting of bitterness and misery threatening to darken his entire demeanour. He'd never been good at controlling his temper.

"Yes," she answered, "I suppose they have."

"Hermione," he said more urgently, lifting the piece of paper. "This? This isn't you!"

She stared at him, pale and with mingled anger and weariness in her face. "No, you're quite right there, Harry, it isn't me most of the time! Not the me I try to be anyway. But there's another side of me that I try so hard to shake off, the side created out of three years alone, friendless, and almost always cold and guilty. Do you think you could live a life like that and not become that embittered, pitiful, poor creature who wrote that?"

"Weak, am I?" Harry quoted sadly, "I laugh in scorn at you. Is that how you feel about me? These conflicting feelings you've got down here?"

Hermione sat down wearily on the edge of the bed, and sighed. "Sometimes."

"You hate me?"

"Sometimes. Because it's so difficult not to love you. Because you're the only one who can hurt me so devastatingly that I never know if I'll survive, and because I know you won't hurt me and that makes me angry because I want excuses to hate you. Oh, heavens."

Harry blinked a few times. He tried to sort out exactly what she'd just said. "Um…"

"Oh, Harry. You're almost as bad as Ron sometimes. No, maybe not. Can't you understand what I mean? I try to hate you. I try so hard sometimes, you know, but I can't stop loving you. Not even for the slightest moment. And I'm afraid."

He sat down beside her. "Afraid of what?"

"I… don't know."

Harry reached out, tentatively, like a child afraid of being rebuffed, and entwined his fingers with hers as her small, cold hand lay in her lap. He squeezed gently, and got a tiny answering squeeze in response. "Look at me, Hermione," he said softly, "I swear to you that I'll never let you fall. I'll love you until I die, and probably even after that, and I'll never again let you slip through my fingers and fall to the ground. Look at me and tell me you believe that."

"Oh, Harry," she said tearfully, burying her face into his shoulder as tears began to slide down her face, "Please don't die."

"Well, it wasn't exactly one of my life objectives, so I'll do my best."

She sniffled a laugh at his wry, half-humorous, half-puzzled tone, and then looked up. Harry felt something tug at his heart at the watery colour of her beautiful, intelligent brown eyes. Then she reached up, and with soft fingers, traced the contours of his face, the pale scars here and there, and finally, the lightning bolt on his forehead. Then she touched his eyes, closing one gently and smoothing her fingertip over his eyelashes.

"I want," she said softly, "So badly to see you laugh again. Like you really mean it. Like you once did. I want so badly to see you smile."

He cracked a grin, one that, to her, seemed full of the bravery and desperation that had always characterised Harry.

"I'll smile for you," said Harry.

"Don't give me that I-can't-bear-this-pain-inside-me-but-I'll-force-a-grin-so-that-Hermione-doesn't-feel-awful smile, Harry. I want to see the light in your eyes again. You were happy once. No one is ever free of sadness, but we all have some happiness. You don't anymore. Smile for me, and you can make me happy."

Harry stood up, and went to the window. "I can't, Hermione."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't do it without you. I can't smile for you, knowing I could lose you. There is no happiness in that kind of world for me. I've lived like a ghost for three years, holding onto the only thread I had: that perhaps you didn't love me enough to return, and so it wasn't worth it. I can't hold onto that any longer. I can't look at you and lose you again. You think you're dying, Hermione? Well, you're not the only one."

"Harry."

"Hermione, I don't want to hear it…"

"Harry, listen to me."

He turned and looked at her. There were tears in her eyes. Her voice shook a little. He went back to her, and looked down at her, waiting for a response. She lifted her eyes to his, and tucked her hand into his larger one. "Kiss me," she whispered.

Harry stared at her. He swallowed a lump in his throat, and then scowled to cover up his loss of self-control. He found he couldn't restrain himself. Consigning himself to the devil, he leaned down and let his mouth melt into hers. His breathing quickened and he held her gently but hard. She kissed him back, equally passionately, and then she pulled away and smiled a little weakly. They were both breathing a little hard and shallowly, and his heart was hammering.

"A Dementor's Kiss," she said, "Sometimes, it feels like it, doesn't it?"

"You make things too complicated."

"Maybe, Harry. But you know what? Some things are that complicated. The kiss of a traitor? It takes everything out of you."

"It brings me back to life."

"It couldn't. You practically said it, Harry – loving me will kill you."

"Loving you saved me once," he said fiercely, "When I groped through the darkness with nothing to hold onto, you were there, the lifeline pulling me back to shore, to the light. It can save me again. And you know what? Damn your bloody scruples and fears. Loving you can save you this time too. Just let me, Hermione. Let me save you, and I promise you we can be happy again."

She bit back an audible sob, and his gut clenched and his heart hardened and trembled alternately. "I'm a coward, Harry," she said helplessly, with a flash of bitterness and self-disgust, "I went somewhere tonight… and I… I thought I had courage, but faced with you and how much I love you and fear for you, I don't know…"

He glared at her, refusing to acknowledge such a statement with anything more than a fierce green glare. "As a Gryffindor, I challenge you to look me in the eye and tell me you have no courage again."

"You can't change the past."

"Actually," he said dryly, "If you had a Time-Turner, you technically could. But I suspect you weren't talking about that kind of dangerous manipulation. Look, you're right. Maybe you can't change some things. I can't bring my parents back, and I can never take away the hurt I caused you. But I can heal it. I can stitch the wounds back together and maybe, with time, ease the ache of the scars. The past is only a memory, and maybe it's an important memory, but the point is, it's over and done with and you can either wallow in it or try to look for something in the future instead. We move forward. Never back. I won't deny the past matters. But Dumbledore once told me you can choose to learn from it, or run away from the lesson it offers you."

"Dumbledore didn't tell you that," Hermione said suddenly. She'd been staring at him, amazed, as if hypnotised and moved by his words, but she suddenly seemed to snap back to reality and her mouth twitched, as, as always being the perfect storehouse of knowledge in spite of her tears and condition, she said, "You got that off _Lion King_."

"No, I didn't!"

"Of course you did, you know that bit with Rafiki?"

"Who's Rafiki? The monkey? Look, I don't get it, I've never even watched it…"

"You must have seen it one holiday when your cousin Dudley was watching it, or something like that. Seems strange, though, because it came out in 1995, I think, and Dudley, from what you've told me, was certainly too old and macho to have watched something like that. But perhaps your Aunt Petunia made him? Who knows? There's no other explanation," she added firmly, challenging him to disagree.

Harry cast his mind back to when he had watched that Disney production and realized she was absolutely right ("shocker," he thought). "Yeah, well," he said with a slight grin, "Disney makes a few good points now and then. I remember now. The whole bit with Simba and the monkey's stick. Oh, God. That came out sounding all wrong. Never mind."

Hermione began to giggle, torn between amusement and being scandalized at what Harry'd just unwittingly said.

To Harry, it was the sweetest sound he had heard in a very long time.

"Come on," he said, "Get back into bed and under those covers. You're shivering again, and you know what? I haven't loved you for years only to let you collapse on me now. Come on, get in there. Let me hold you. I think it's way past your bedtime. You can chortle at my accidental jokes all you want tomorrow morning. I ought to warn you, though. It's going to be a busy day."

Hermione looked at him as she curled up beside him in her bed again. "Why, what's happening tomorrow?" she asked, rather sleepily.

"I'm going to get Lupin to cast the spell that's going to save you."

Hermione's eyes popped open.

…

…

…

"Harry, are you going to tell me what's supposed to happen?" Hermione asked worriedly, looking at him. He looked strained and anxious, as if he wasn't sure this was going to work. "What's the matter? Are you afraid it might not be effective or something?"

Lupin immediately responded reassuringly. "Oh, no, Hermione, don't worry about that. I have a feeling Harry's looking so worried because he's afraid you may not agree to this at all. This is a very unusual and rarely used spell, but I've done my research and I know how it must be cast, and in every case study I've read except for one, it's worked perfectly." He hesitated, and then said, "In the case where it didn't work, well… both participants were killed outright."

"Both participants?" said Hermione, her voice rising a little shrilly. "What does that mean? What are you implying?"

They were all standing in the living room of Harry's house. Lupin was beside the table, flipping through the pages of a book. Tonks and Ginny were sitting on the sofa nearby, with Neville and Luna on the sofa opposite. Ron was leaning against the wall. Harry and Hermione were standing bang in the middle of the room, both standing a little tensely, Hermione rather uncertainly, unsure and rather afraid of what might happen. She did not dare get her hopes up. To live was something she had nearly forgotten.

Lupin looked at Harry, who nodded slightly, a little jerkily, his jaw clenched, as if telling Lupin it was okay to explain it all to her. Lupin turned back to Hermione, and looked at her for a moment. Ron looked pale and worried. Hermione suddenly realized that every one of the people here knew exactly what this spell was supposed to involve. And they were all afraid. But of what, she wasn't certain.

"Hermione," Lupin said gently, "There is no direct cure for the Sickness Spell that Dolohov forced into you. At least no cure that you can apply or cast and make the spell vanish with. Greyback told Harry and me that once the Sickness Spell sets in, the person affected is essentially dead already, that it's as if they're simply living out a… a… battery life… of sorts. Points accumulated over the past now combining to extend your life until the battery runs out. Harry gave me this analogy, because he said it might make you understand better, with a Muggle parallel."

Hermione stared at him weakly. "I… I understand what you mean." She was the walking dead. She felt faint and weak, but refused to even sway on the spot.

"So, therefore, strictly speaking, you have no strong life force of your own to sustain you longer than your battery life. I know it isn't easy to hear this, but I have to explain. The only cure, therefore, is a Bonding Spell. It's a very rare spell and very difficult in general terms. It binds the life force of one healthy, strong magical person to one dying person. Essentially, you would have a completely normal life, only your life force would not be your own, but somebody else's, keeping you moored to this world like an anchor. This also means," Lupin added after a moment, "You're your life would be tied irrevocably to the life of the Giver. It cannot be reversed by any magic in the world. If the Giver dies, Hermione, you would die too. It means that you would have to trust the person tying their life to yours implicitly, you would have to place your very existence in their hands and accept that you will not outlive them. The spell cannot work if you don't believe and trust the Giver."

And in that moment, in that one awful moment in which she heard Lupin's words as if through a dream, Hermione understood everything. "Harry can't save you unless you trust him". "Trust me, Hermione, I can't do this if you don't". She turned slowly, her head and eyes moving as if through a fog, and she saw Harry looking right at her, his green eyes full of a desperate plea for her to understand and accept what Lupin was saying.

"I see it now," she said softly, and her voice was calm and even a little cold. "You're suggesting that Harry binds his life to mine. My God. What if the spell kills us both? Have any of you even thought of that? I'm practically on death row, already – Muggle prison language, Ron, stop blinking – but now you're asking me to put Harry's life in that kind of danger?"

"Hermione," he grabbed her arms, desperately, "Hermione, listen to me. Lupin knows what he's doing! Forty-nine times out of fifty in history, this has worked. We're not doing to die. I won't let you, don't you understand? And if… if we do…"

He trailed off, and she saw the calm acceptance behind the pleading look in his eyes. His unspoken words touched her heart and she heard them in spite of his silence. _And if we die, we'll still be together_.

"Oh, Harry," she said, choking back a sob. "How can I let… How could I…"

"Do you trust me?" he demanded.

Lupin cleared his throat slightly, and seemed to blink back tears. "There's one more thing you ought to know, Hermione." Hermione looked at him, but didn't miss the fierce look Harry suddenly shot Lupin. Lupin shook his head. "No, Harry, she has a right to know everything. You see, the Bonding Spell, requires magic to sustain. I can cast it, but I can't sustain it. Only the Giver can. So the thing is, that as long as you're both alive, Harry would have to sustain the spell and your life force that way. It would require no conscious effort on his part. It would just require his magic."

Lupin paused, hesitating, and then said:

"All of it."

Hermione stared in disbelief. "Harry would have no magic? Ever again? He'd never be able to use his wand or make his hair grow back or… anything?"

"Nothing. As a wizard by blood, he would still be able to go to Diagon Alley and all those things. His magic is inherent, after all. He would just never be able to use it in any way, consciously or subconsciously. He… I think the closest definition is that he would be a Squib. Squibs can enter magical places, you see, and see Dementors and the like. But they can't use magic."

Hermione felt faint and sick. She didn't deserve this, she didn't deserve this kind of love and immense sacrifice. She'd never wanted anyone to sacrifice anything for her. And Harry, how could she ask Harry to give up what meant so much to him? To risk his life so deeply, because he had so many enemies who would be euphoric if they ever heard of this! She swallowed, and put a hand to her head, trying to steady herself. She was vaguely aware of Harry's hand on her elbow, holding her up. He always held her up. Only once had he let her fall, and she knew he would never do so again. But this… this condition…

"Oh, God," Hermione said weakly, "There are people in the world who hate you, Harry. Who would seize such an opportunity to kill you."

"I'm willing to risk that."

"And you think I am?"

"Hermione," he said desperately, "Don't you see? It works mutually, both ways. I use my magic to keep you alive, and in turn, you use yours to protect me when I can't protect myself. You'll still be every bit of the witch you once were and still are. It doesn't touch your magic. You'll have a normal, healthy life again. We both will. I just won't be a wizard in the true sense of the word anymore."

"But, Harry," she said, and her voice softened, "The magical world is everything to you? It represents everything you escaped from in your awful childhood."

He swallowed. "The world is still open to me. Magic may not be, but I realized that the real magic in my life was the friends I've made… and you. None of that will change. I won't lie to you, it'll be a wrench to put my wand away and never use it again. But I don't even need to think about it. Between you and waving around a magical stick, there's really no choice there."

"You… You'd give all that up, do all this, for me?"

Ginny was sniffling. So was Ron.

"I'd do anything for you," said Harry simply, "I've said it before."

"I don't want you to do this out of guilt for the past, Harry!"

"We've been through this, in your northern home," he said grimly, fiercely, looking hard into her eyes, "None of what I've been doing has come from guilt. I'm doing it because I love you, because a life without you means nothing to me. It's not asking much from me to tie my magic to your life. I'd do it ten times over, and never look back in regret."

Hermione felt the tears spill down her face. She reached out, and touched Harry's cheek, his lean jawbone, honed by years of strain and burdens he should never have had to bear. He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.

"Trust me," he begged.

"I trust you," she replied softly. Then she looked at Lupin. "I'll do it."

An imperceptible wave of relief passed over the room. Hermione had not realized until then that they had all been afraid that she would refuse and that they would lose her. Harry grinned in relief and delight, and then his face sobered again. "It'll be a rocky life," he said, "You know my dances with death."

"Life since I met you, Harry, has always been rocky," she said with a tearful smile, "And I've loved every minute of it. But… are you sure?"

"Now, Hermione, if you're going to start creating excuses again…"

Lupin hastily stepped forward. "Excellent. We're all agreed. Let's get this done, then. It should only take a few moments."

"What do we have to do?"

"Reach out and place your right palms over each other's hearts. The magic will flow through your hands from Harry's heart to Hermione's, and bind you both together. It's absolutely painless, so don't worry." Lupin watched anxiously as they stood a step apart from one another, and touched each other's hearts.

Ron distinctly sniggered in the background, no doubt at the position of Harry's hand, and Tonks threw a cushion at him to silence him. Hermione looked into Harry's green eyes, and felt a sudden surge of joy at the new life in his eyes and the hammering of his heart under her hand. How she loved him. And now, at last, she knew how much he loved her and now, at last, they had been given a second chance. She smiled for him, and he grinned back.

"This is it," he said softly.

"A death breath," she replied, and for the first time, there was no bitterness when she heard those words. He smiled at that, and nodded in understanding.

Lupin cast the spell. A glowing white light spread from his wand, enveloping them. Hermione felt hot and comforted somehow. Then a dazzling sensation of light passed into her, piercing her very heart, and she suddenly felt renewed and strong, and then abruptly, switched to feeling exhausted and drained.

How long it went on, she never knew. She stared only into Harry's green eyes, watching the same emotions flicker through there, and she felt his heart, warm and beating, under her hand, and felt her own heart begin to beat in time to his.

Then the light faded, and so did the unnatural warmth.

"Hermione," Harry whispered weakly. "I love you."

She stared at him through dizzy vision. "I love you too, Harry."

And they both crumpled to the ground.

Neville and Ginny sprang up in alarm, both fearing the worst instantly. Luna's eyes widened even more than usual, and Tonks gasped. But Ron felt as if his entire breath had been sucked out of him. He went pale and started for the two still figures sprawled together on the ground. Lupin raised a hand and stopped him, bending towards them. He looked a little startled and worried.

"Oh, dear," he said thoughtfully, "I don't think this was supposed to happen."

…

…

TBC.

…


	16. Christmas

**Disclaimer: **I don't own "Harry Potter" or anything associated with it that you recognize.

**A/N: **The sixteenth and final chapter. This is more of an epilogue because the real drama and climax of the story is over. I really didn't want to end this, but oh well… to a hopefully satisfying ending for everyone! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, and look out for my next story: I think I have ideas in the works already :)

…

…

**Kiss of the Traitor**

**Chapter Sixteen: Christmas**

Someone was talking. Hermione wasn't precisely sure whether she was dreaming or whether the black void around her meant that she _wasn't_ dreaming and the voice was coming from outward. Oh, dear, she was so confused. But she could hear the voice. Yes, it was bone-jarringly clear, like a Chinese gong. It sounded a bit like Ron. How typical. Honestly, what a thickheaded numbskull! Didn't he realize she was sleeping?

"Personally, I think she looks rather peaky."

"No one cares what you think, Ron. And if you don't lower your voice, Madam Pomfrey will have us all forcibly ejected from this room. Oh, thanks, Luna. This Butterbeer was just what I needed. _Hush_, Ron!"

"Yeah, she can't throw us out yet, I haven't even finished setting up my Dungbomb…"

"Don't you dare, Fred! Hagrid, please remove him from the premises, would you?"

"It'll be my pleasure, Molly."

"All right, all right, I'm sorry. Hagrid, _no_! That tickles!"

"Hey, Mrs. W, when did Lupin say they were likely to wake up?"

"He wasn't sure, Terry, and I really have to remind you that I don't like being called 'Mrs. W'. Oh, Tonks, dear! Good gracious, you didn't take the Knight Bus here, did you? That would certainly be unwise in your condition, dear."

"No, I took the Vanishing Cabinet. Remus wanted to come, but the Minister demanded a meeting with him about some werewolf legislation or the other."

Really, Hermione thought indignantly, they were acting like she wasn't sleeping here in the same room. Honestly, who gave them permission to have loud conversations in her bedroom anyway? Did they have _no_ delicate scruples? And had Fred said something about a _Dungbomb_?

"Oh, dear. This is too many people, I'm afraid. Mrs. Weasley, why don't you take everyone out and I'll _call_ you as soon as she wakes?"

"Oh, very well, Poppy. Everyone, out, you're being much too noisy!"

"Can we stay, Madam Pomfrey? Please? Please?"

"Oh, all right, Ms. Weasley. Just you and your ridiculous brother, then. But if I hear another loud word out of you, Ronald Weasley, you'll join the others outside. Have I made myself clear? I won't have my patients disturbed."

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey. I'll be quiet, I really will. McGonagall will kill me anyway."

Hermione personally thought he wasn't being very quiet at all, and she intended to tell him so as soon as she mustered the energy to open her eyes and turn over. To compensate while she struggled with eyelids that seemed glued together, she uttered a low, admonishing groan and turned her head in the direction of the unwelcome noise.

There was a gasp. "I think she moved."

When she finally managed to open them, she found Ron and Ginny staring down at her anxiously. She blinked slowly to clear her vision. "Hello," she said quietly.

"Hermione!" Ginny said delightedly. "You're awake!"

"You scared us for a while there," Ron told her, looking positively sick with relief.

"Really?" she asked, baffled.

"Of course you did! Ask Ginny, we were freaked out, and Tonks was so startled we thought that if she had been any more pregnant than she was, she would have delivered the baby right then and there!"

"Baby?" Hermione interjected weakly, looking around. "Where?"

Ron went on as if she hadn't spoken at all. "Yeah, when you guys collapsed, we thought you were dead for sure. I don't remember ever being so scared… except for when we fought Aragog's little kids," he added reflectively. "And when we had to battle You-Know-Who. And when… well, anyway, you get the point. You and Harry wouldn't wake up. We tried spells and shaking and even some silly lavender water Luna produced. Then Lupin finally figured out that you must have been knocked out while the magic seeped in. Took its time too, I have to say… You've been out cold for two days now."

Hermione put a hand to her throbbing head. Really, couldn't Ron see that she was a little _off_ right now? What was he talking about? Delivering babies? Why was Ron having babies? Magic seeping? Seeping where? It had taken its own time to seep? They thought she was dead? Why would anyone think something as foolish as that? Out cold for two days? Who? Her? And why, _why_ was she lying in a bed in the hospital wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Then, as Hermione tried to sort out these various questions, memory hit her and nearly knocked her unconscious again. The Sickness Spell, the Bonding Spell, Lupin, the light, Harry…

Harry!

She let out a shriek, making both Ron and Ginny jump: "Is he dead?"

"Who?" demanded Ron.

Ginny glared at her brother, and said soothingly to Hermione, "It's all right, Hermione, Harry's just fine, he's right there next to you, see?"

Hermione turned her head and saw Harry lying in the next bed. "You're sure he's all right?" she asked them anxiously. Harry, her Harry. She loved him so much. And they'd both been through so much, given up so much for each other. She couldn't lose him now. That would be too cruel, much too cruel. He had to be okay.

"Yes, he's fine," Ginny told her patiently, smiling, "He woke up a few hours ago and he was all worried about you, in fact. Shocking." She grinned. "Anyway, Madam Pomfrey gave him something to eat and some chocolate and advised him to go to sleep for a little while."

"Oh…"

"We promised him that we'd wake him the instant you woke up, though, if he wasn't already awake. But if you want to go ahead and wake him yourself… I daresay he might enjoy being woken by the love of his life than by the two of us."

Hermione slowly pushed off the covers in the bed and got out of bed. She was amazed by how she felt – strong, healthy, _alive_ again. The sickness, the weakness, was gone. She almost cried. Harry had done this for her. Ginny and Ron watched her as she went to his side. He lay quite peacefully asleep, and he looked much better than he had before. His pallor had eased a bit, and the lines of strain had faded from his face. But she wanted to see him laugh. She needed to see him laugh. What was she, without Harry, without his happiness?

She stretched her fingers gently towards him and touched his wrist, smoothing them over his skin, and then wrapped her hand in his, squeezing gently. He stirred restlessly.

"Hermione," he mumbled.

She smiled and touched her lips to his forehead, kissing him lightly. "It's me, Harry."

His eyes flickered open and he blinked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then a light sprang to his wonderful green eyes and he sat up so fast his head nearly collided with hers. "Hermione!" he said. "You – are you okay – how do you feel?"

"As good as new," she said softly, "Thanks to you, Harry."

He grinned. "Wow. I never thought… I dreamed… I've been so afraid."

She put her arms around him and held him tightly, and he clung to her as if he would never ever let her go. Hermione heard Ginny dragging Ron out of the room and the door discreetly close. She held Harry in her arms and kissed his head. "We're all right, Harry," she said softly. "We're finally okay. And you… your magic?"

"It was worth it," he said, grinning, "Just to see you smile like that."

Hermione let him go and she sank down on the edge of his bed, feeling a little awkward. "Harry, what happens now?"

"We're going to get married," he told her matter-of-factly, "I can't let Ron get married before I do."

She laughed. "You've given this a great deal of thought!"

"I've wanted to be with you since I woke up to how much I loved you," he said, brushing brown hair out of her eyes, a tender look in his face that was so rare in the face that had once seemed grim and worn all the time. The look made her heart sing. "So yeah, I'm pretty sure of what I want now. Marry me?"

"Alas, my romantic illusions have been dispelled," she said with false drama, "I always pictured being proposed to over a candle-lit dinner on the North Tower, a man on one knee with a real jewel of an engagement ring concealed deep within the chocolate cake…"

Harry snorted. "Well, if you can conjure up the candles and dinner and the ring, I'll bake the cake and get down on one knee."

Hermione laughed. "I love you, Harry."

"I love you too," he said. Then his eyes alighted on something over her shoulder and he reached for it. It was a small, wrapped box. "I had this crafted for you this Christmas, but I never wound up giving it to you on the day because I didn't dare." He watched her as, hands trembling, she unwrapped the parcel and found a neat box within. "You know, I figure you might be more amenable to it now, seeing as you mentioned that you wanted it romantic…"

She could feel his eyes, nervous and excited all at once, as she opened the box. She gasped. It was a ring, but not just any ring. It was silver, which touched her, because she knew Harry must have remembered that she'd once said she preferred silver to gold. And it was slim and elegant with a crafting of a lion, a snake, a badger and a raven along the band. Hermione felt tears sting her eyes as she looked at Harry.

"Oh, Harry."

"Yeah, well," he said, looking awkward, "This place will always be our real home. I've never been as happy as I was when I was here with you. This was where we started and this is where we've begun again. I figured it was a… a good symbol."

"It's beautiful," she sobbed, throwing herself at him, "It's perfect!"

"Merry Christmas," Harry said with a grin. "Now put it on your finger and let's shock everyone by telling them we're going to get married."

Hermione cleared her throat slightly, brushing away happy tears. She jerked her chin forward, over Harry's shoulder. Harry slowly turned his head around towards the door of the hospital wing, and sighed in resignation, as he saw no less than fifteen faces peering through the door at them, all of whom were beaming with triumph and satisfaction and delight.

"Something tells me that there isn't going to be much shock happening around here," Hermione remarked in a dry voice. "Except maybe for Professor McGonagall."

Harry sighed. "When we go on our honeymoon, we're keeping the location a secret."

"I can assure you, my good man," George bellowed from the door, "We have absolutely no desire to snoop on events taking place on your honeymoon! Try Disneyworld, it's supposed to be _magical_! By the way, can you name your first son after me?"

"Excuse me, if they're going to name a son after anyone, it'll be me!" said Ron indignantly.

"And a daughter after me," Ginny said helpfully, "Or perhaps they could name their daughter Ginniluna. Or Remitonks. Or Hagrinerva."

"Another wedding in the family," said Mrs. Weasley blissfully, though, technically, of course, neither Harry nor Hermione were part of the Weasley family.

"Oh, no!" Neville groaned. "I lost my two-legged Water-Plant! Someone help me look for it!"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in feigned exasperation and resignation, and Harry mouthed incredulously: '_Hagrinerva_?'. There was a light of laughter and happiness dancing in Harry's eyes that made the last wounds in Hermione's heart heal and made her feel that, at last, all the pieces had fallen together.

"Meet you at the North Tower right away?" he asked her wryly.

She grinned. "Let me get your Invisibility Cloak and then you're on."

…

…

THE END.

…


End file.
